A common misconception about sex is the one that goes: Men are aggressive, women are passive. Such is not the case, especially in these modern times where women have gained considerably in job equality and civil rights in general. With this increased acceptance of the woman-as-equal, however, has come increased scrutiny of her sexual role and behavior, and it becomes increasingly evident that the traditional picture of woman as blushing bride or passive sexualist is not only out of focus, but the wrong picture entirely.
As concerns us here, in SHE STOLE HER DAUGHTER'S BOYFRIEND, Ms. Hunt describes a type of woman more common than was thought in years gone by, a woman whose own natural sexuality has been suppressed and repressed to the point where it comes boiling over, uncontrollably, as she slakes her innate lust on the first object to cross her path under compromising circumstances.
Unfortunately, in this case, that object happens to be her very own daughter's boyfriend, who is coincidentally underaged, a double dilemma for our increasingly sexually active mother, and happily leading to a solution to her twin problems which is beneficial to all.
You will find the Rated X books, along with their companions, the Surrey Collectors' Series and the HIS 69 gay titles at your favorite adult bookstore or newsstand each and every month. Serious collectors of strictly adult reading will want them all, side by side on their private bookshelves for definite re-reading and ready reference.
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-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
The big kid in the deep shade of the grape arbor was as tense and as eager as a bird dog after quail. What he was after, what he was scenting, actually was quail, in a vulgar, local usage of the term. And the scent, rich and thick and sweet, coming up from the sweating crotch of the young blonde girl was far more intense than any other game bird ever flaunted.
The boy had the middle finger of his left hand buried deep in the girl's slick, pouting, fat-lipped young cunt, and she was doing her level best not to fling herself up further. Doing her best not to expose the fact that she loved it, loved what the boy and his finger were doing to her. She tried to frame vocal protests, but they were lost, because the two kids were kissing in a very adult way, his long tongue deep in her mouth, her tongue probing under his. Her protests sounded like: "Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm!" And that, to the boy, sounded like the girl loved it.
He was naked, except for a rumpled ring of fabric around his ankles. Surfer trunks, peeled off a few minutes past. His protection in case the two were caught. Yes, indeed. Protection.
If a fifteen-year-old kid is caught trying to make out with a twelve-year-old chickie next door, in his underpants, he is a dead duck. Even if he were to hear mama coming and haul them quickly up his hips, he's cooked.
But, in Southern California, to find a kid not wearing surfer trunks during the summer would be grounds for suspicion. And they're as quick and easy to pull up as they are to shove down, plus the added attraction that surfers are loose enough to camouflage the hard-on, incipient or insistent.
There was a sucking pop in the hot, fragrant air under the arbor as the young couple separated their hot, clinging lips, their strongly aroused, saliva-dripping tongues. The girl, her blue eyes dazed with a passion felt from head to toe, smiled weakly into the boy's intense young face.
"Oh, Ronnie," she said chokingly, "I just have to shoot it! Please let me! Please work your finger into me deeper!"
Her young body was an unbelievable composite of soft girlishness and miniaturized female adulthood. And not so miniaturized, if you went by full and weighty breasts, thick and trembling cuntlips, and a heat that seemed to issue from her red-veined inner lips as if from a warm oven.
True, there was not a great deal of hair on the divided pubescence of that juvenile pussy. But there was plenty to prove that this was, in spite of her years, more woman than child.
True, her breasts were not large. But, in proportion to her gently sculptured frame, they were big enough to proclaim their right to male attention. And their nipples, swollen by the heat in her youthful genitals, almost blood-red with excitement, proved their young owner's cunt-heat and her maturity of sexuality.
"Oh, Ronnie," the girl sobbed, her head on his smooth young chest, "let me fuck up and down on your finger again! It felt so good! Let me cum! And I promise, I'll fix you up, too!"
He stroked her head, her long, straight blonde hair. He was panting, and his sweet young face was locked in sullen lines.
"I've soaked my fingers in your cunt until my fingernails are about to fall out," he growled. "I bet we've touted each other into a trip up the wall a hundred times in the last six months. Why won't you let me fuck you? Why don't you let me stick this into your pussy, and shoot my jism into your guts? Why won't you suck my cream down in your tonsils, wrap your tongue around my cock, lick my balls?"
He seemed to be panting even more heavily, and the girl, a strange smile on her face, shivered in his arms.
"You need to cum, too, don't you, darling Ronnie?" she whispered softly, putting one soft, sweet little hand up to his hot, smooth cheek. "Ooooh, I wish we could do it. Fuck, I mean. Ooooh! Ooooh! That's so lovely! Ooooh! Hold me!"
She flung her richly formed little body, slick and sweet with the summer-day's sweat, against young Ron's, emitting little cries of joy, and he suddenly plunged his long middle finger into the warm, clustering petals of squirming flesh between her outer lips, picking up their sweetly sopping goo, sliding spang! into the tightness of her little cunt.
"It wouldn't hurt you to suck me off," he said above her blonde head, feeling her muscular little cuntal aperture nipping determinedly on his finger as the girl's body arched and exploded.
"Oh, baby! Oh, Ronnie! I'm cumming! OHHH! UUUNNNHHH! OH,GOD! OH, MY cunt! Shove, baby, shove! Fuck that finger into me hard!"
He felt her body stiffen and shake, relax, stiffen and shake again, letting the howling, flooding cum pour out of her hot, strong little body. If he had only had cum-nerves in his finger! God damn it, anyhow! He had missed again.
Damn her, he told himself, I had her as good as on it, and I let it get away from me. I shouldn't have stuck my finger back in her cunt, I shouldn't have kept talking. I should have just spread her open and stuck it in her!
The beautiful girl rolled away on the broad, soft pad they had dragged from the heavy redwood chaise. She was damp and flushed, some of her bright yellow hair drawn into sweated wisps that wormed along her cheeks. Her blouse, which had been above her breasts, no more than a string of light fabric roped under her armpits, she tugged down, grinning at the boy. Keeping her smiling eyes on him and his moody face, his throbbing hard-on, she groped for her panties and pulled them on, her dripping young slit creating a darker spot in their white crotch at once.
The boy grabbed her, baring his teeth in a death's head grin.
"You're not going to leave me hanging," he said, and his young voice sounded very husky and adult. "I ought to have too much sense, by now, to let you get off on my finger! You're going to suck my cock, Terry! Or you're going to let me fuck you!" As if on cue, the girl began to weep, rocking back and forth.
"You're hurting me, Ronnie," she whispered brokenly. "You're too strong! Don't hurt me! I can't help being scared!"
She turned her flowerlike little face up to him, her pink cheeks glistening with tears, her full young lips in a tentative smile that begged him to understand, to be easy with her. She put one soft, warm little hand on his cock, shivering, closing her eyes.
He leaned over her and began to let her have his tongue, kissing her, it seemed, in gulps, because he loved the taste and texture of her young mouth. He was not really in despair that he would never culminate what seemed a profound effort to fuck this girl, not yet in her teens, but so gloriously in the hot and devouring state of womanhood.
"The hair on your pussy is so sweet," he choked, pulling away from her mouth momentarily. "You're a woman, Terry, you know that? Cunt-hair and juice and good old cunt-stink! Wow!" He kissed her hard once again, fucking his hard cock against her inner arm, where the skin was smooth and blue veins showed. It was a part of what they did for each other, each an outlet for desire which could still remain on safe ground. "I love your cunt," he said. "It tastes so good on my finger!"
He sucked on his fingers for a moment, the girl's blue eyes bright with interest. Some day he really will fuck me, she thought, and shivered as she imagined the raw, hard, stretching thrust of the big kid's cock up into her hurtfully grateful pussy. "Baby!" she moaned, feeling a hot-wire tingle of fuck fire in the black and drooling folds up her twat. Some day I'll take his cock way up inside me, and my pussy'll suck every drop of jism out of his balls!
The thought made her mouth flood with spit, and she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him again, shoving her saliva into his sucking mouth with her tongue.
"Hey, Terry," he whispered. "You really are hot, baby! Why don't you give it to me, doll? I mean it, this time! I've got to fuck you! Give me those damned panties!"
She fought him briefly, a sudden fear becoming very real as she saw the anger on his face. But her body, fearing and wanting at the same time, once again acted as her ally, because his strong fingers, plunging under the strap of her chaste white panties, slipped into the aching, warm, slickly muscled aperture of her pussy. And she began to pump out another orgasm.
This time, he meant to fuck me, the girl's mind warned, even while she was thrashing out an explosive cum. I never know how far he'll go. The idea frightened her but made her feel mature and sure of herself and wanted. But a bit unsafe. Which may have been the nicest sense of all.
Her eyes, which had again glazed over with the lust that had shaken her, cleared, and she held onto the boy again.
"I'm sorry, Ronnie," she whispered. "You know I don't dare suck it. Or let you stick it in me. Let me have the poor, dear, sweet, hard thing! Mmmmm!" And she squeezed his painfully happy dick in her warm hands, pressing it against her cheek. "Oh, he's so nice! And I want to see your cream shoot out! Are you really ready to cum?" She looked up at him, her smile tremulous.
"You better believe it," the boy growled. "Damn it, Terry! Why can't we ever really fuck? You're as nutty for it as I am! Every time, I think I'm going to get it! And I don't! Why?"
She kept her eyes closed, rubbing the head of his powerful young prick against the smoothness of her cheek. Maybe you're as scared as I am, Ronnie, she told him mentally. And she knew in her heart that, if he pushed just one ounce more, she'd be unable to prevent her thighs from opening, her cunt from sucking him in.
She felt the warmth of his sweated crotch against her cheek like a hot breath, and inhaled its musky rankness, the harshly male smell making her giddy for a moment. She thought she heard a movement in the vines behind her, but she was too bemused and too deep in the dangerous and beautiful world of sex to get her mind or her hands away from Ronnie's prick.
He heard the noise, too, and it startled him. Ever since he and Terry had been in this deeply involved friendship, their first bold and overt experimentation with sex, he had lived in mingled joy and fear. Joy that he could actually see and feel and taste and smell a maturing female cunt. That he could show his cock to a girl, and squeeze her ripening titties while she squeezed his cock. And, above all, that he could say those terrible, beautiful, raunchy words. Fuck. Cunt. Cock. This was joy. But his fear was simpler and, at the same time, broader.
Because there was no real refuge for teenagers. They were the natural prey of grown-ups, the widespread minority that had no voice, no vote, no power whatsoever. Therefore, Ronnie's fear was of grown-ups in general, and of Terry's mother in particular.
Always, in these deliriously wonderful, frighteningly thrilling sessions with the girl, when he could be as bold as he liked, when he could talk with more explicit daring than he ever had believed possible, there was always a chill, wiggly worm of fear chewing away at his guts.
"Don't be scared, Ronnie," the girl had whispered many a time, holding his throbbing penis. "Let it go, baby!" and she would pull the soft skin back as far as it would go, pulling the head of it taut. "Shoot that hot cream out. Let me see it!" And he would shoot it, but painfully, looking all around to be sure they were not being spied on, that Terry's mother was not watching them. Terry sympathized and understood.
"All I have to do is pull my skirt down if someone blunders in here," she admitted. "I know you're the one in danger. Oh, Ron, if we had a place to go! Maybe then I'd have nerve enough to let you really fuck me!"
But he was not sure. This dangerous play, this exciting exchange of adult talk, this grumbling about her holding out on him, that was really part of the act. To have every other right except the ultimate, that was very nice, he knew. Lots of kids his age, it was well know, had been fucking for years. But a lot of them had never had a finger in a girl's warm, slick cunt.
This, now, was his payoff for all he had done for Terry. All the joy he had manipulated into her hot little pussy, the several orgasms he had given her. She would now, by rubbing his nerve-aching cock along her cheek and neck, under her jawline, in the soft skin of her throat, bring him to the throbbing joy which would spurt his white, sticky seed all over the leaves and twigs and vines of the arbor.
Except that now, more than ever before, hearing that rustling sound just outside the arbor, he knew that some of his joy would be stolen from him.
He put his hand under Terry's short dress again, between her smooth, warm thighs, pressing his long fingers into the softness of her mound. The strap of her panties was wet and slick. While he was waiting for this dry and rather shameful ejaculation, she had enjoyed cum after cum, far up in the dark slickness of her young pussy.
He was suddenly suffused with the male's rage against the female ritual of denying him her body. It was a different feeling than the one he usually had, which was, actually, a part of his ritual, too.
He suddenly gripped the girl around her head, his hands on her cheeks, and began to shove his cock at her face, grazing her nose, her lips, even her chin.
Terry was frightened at first, then angry. She loved this big kid, and loved his cock. She loved what they did together, and what he did for her. But her mother had brainwashed her to a point where one final fear successfully kept her from going all the way, even though she was always so near to it.
But now, as she opened her mouth to scream at him, his cock somehow went between her lips, deep into her mouth, even into her throat, and she was lost.
She had always loved the deeply moving aromas that came from under the moist, pinkly grained foreskin of Ronnie's cock when she skinned it back. "I couldn't suck it," she had told him, time and time again, but she lived with the raunchy dream of tongue-polishing that smooth, delightful peter. And nature had made her wonder what it would be like to feel the warmth and smoothness of the head and column in her mouth, against her deep-sucking cheeks, against the ridged roof of her mouth. How it would feel to her. And to him.
But, above all, she had dreamed of taking his blasts of hot jism in her mouth. She had rubbed the stuff in her hands so often! Nothing was so rich and slick. She had the belief that, since it was the stuff of life, it would be marvelously health-giving. The taste--she had sneaked small tongue-touches after Ronnie had cum and gone--was shudderingly delicious, but in a strange way, a way she thought of as "perverted", using her mother's criterion for everything connected with sex.
Now, with the hard reality of the cock in her mouth, she fought the boy, trying to pull her head back, striking him in the chest. But knowing she was not fighting to be released, but to give her mother's teachings one last token observance.
And it was then, as she felt Ronnie's dear peter swelling in her throat and knew it would drown her taste buds in hot sperm, that the lightning struck. And, for a second, the girl knew only that something dreadful was happening, for she saw nothing except the smoothly tanned belly of the young boy, the ring of hair at the base of his cock.
What he saw almost caused his heart to stop.
Amy Morris, the avenging fury he always carried in the back of his mind, her face locked in pain and hate, pulled the vines aside and showed herself to him.
He had already started his explosions of semen. They were shooting into Terry's mouth, or would have been, except that he, almost fainting with fear and guilt, let go Terry's head and let his entire body sag away from her startled, angry face.
She had received one solid, hot spurt of the thick seed, so slick and delicious on her tongue. Enough to arouse her almost to an orgasmic heat. Her mind was in a chaotic state, wild and crazy with a buried and guilty desire being fulfilled. Her taste buds were leaping under the strange richness of the boy's semen, there was a new throb in her cunt, a new wave of lust sweeping her young body. Then it all crumbled.
She let the jerking, jetting cock slip out of her mouth and felt confused and mistreated. Her mouth was still open and she still had her fingers around the thick, hairy base of Ronnie's lovely young tool. It was spouting in long, straight white ropes which lashed against her face with stinging force. Gobs of the rich, sticky cum were tracing their way down her forehead, her cheeks, her chin. Since her mouth was hanging open, a couple of the hotly fired shots of sperm blasted into her throat, over her tongue. And these, in spite of her confusion, she loved. Even though she could tell something was dreadfully wrong with Ronnie, something that had stopped his groaning, his shouts of joy, even his violent fucking motions. She knew it, knew that Ronnie was petrified. She wondered why.
And then she heard that familiar voice, the voice of fear and condemnation, the voice of love and pain and concern.
"You--you--you animals! Don't you dare run, Ronnie Davis!"
And the two children, so recently on fire with sex and nature, now waited in frozen dread, as helpless as two small animals condemned to the gas chambers.
Mechanically, his young face bloodless and drawn, the boy, acting as automatically as a robot, reached down and pulled his surfer trunks up around his waist. His young cock, suddenly shriveled to a soft little morsel, still had a drop of pearly-white semen at its tip.
The girl simply sat with her face in her hands, her young body shaking. Her blouse was already in place, and her miniskirt, hauled up when Ronnie had put his fingers into her the last time, was now over her strong, round young thighs.
The two young people did not move or speak or look at each other. They were awaiting some dreadful punishment because, in their minds, they had done a dreadful thing. Or rather, they had been caught doing a dreadful thing.
And the woman, struggling blindly around from the leafy side of the arbor, took her time because she did not know what she was going to say, or what she was going to do. Her mind was in a worse turmoil than that of her daughter and the neighbor boy, if that were possible. And her heart, which had pounded so hard that she had felt she would die as she watched and listened at what she thought of as a most shameful spectacle, seemed now to be stagnating, leaving her fingers cold and numb.
Amy Morris was not a bad person. At the ABC Supermarket, where she had been a checker for more than six years, she was a favorite with the customers, her fellow employees, her bosses. She enjoyed and appreciated the work at the market. For a good reason--with her seniority and the friendship of all her superiors, she could pick her hours for work. Thus, she could work from eight to four, coming in an hour before the store opened to do work in stock. This had led to promotions, raises, and a general feeling that she was "reliable", a characteristic highly prized in a big-store operation.
But what she liked was that she was with her daughter during what she thought of as "the danger hours." Terry caught the school bus at eight-thirty, got home at four.
And, just as some people are obsessed with sex, Amy Morris was obsessed with non-sex. With keeping her daughter safe from the horrible things that can happen to a girl who permits boys to make a sex object out of her, to fuck her, in a word. It did not occur to her that, to almost any healthy girl who has reached puberty, who has anxiously examined her little pussy for traces of pubic hair, who has proudly felt her first menstrual cramp and triumphantly shoved her first tampon up her girlish vagina, the most horrible of all horrible things that could happen, sex-wise, would be not to have boys dying to fuck her. Or at least, to want to, to say so, to try.
So every week day, Amy Morris went to work at eight. "A girl can't get in much trouble between seven-fifty and eight." Amy often told herself. Still, she had dreadful, salacious dreams of the tender girl-child she had borne, and who, for the past ten months, had shown such a frighteningly human tendency to grow up, to swell, to burgeon in hip and thigh and titty. Dreams in which some man with a large, blood-dripping cock, had just fucked her virgin daughter, and knelt triumphantly between those soft, sweet thighs while Terry's virgin blood and the man's cruel semen made a horrible mess of the bruised, violated young pussy.
She had many variations of this recurring dream. Sometimes it would be a large dog with a huge, blood-red cock, pointed like a spear, fucking with a dog's terrible insistence into the sweet young cunt, his intent expression matched by Terry's.
And now, it had happened. Or something had happened. And she was as dumbstruck, as disoriented, as chained by indecision and fear as the two cowering kids.
It was only because she had been an adult for years, and a mother for almost thirteen of them, that she was able to go on. She was the only parent Terry had. She had had to be both father and mother for ten years, which was how long ago Ralph had run out on her and his daughter.
She was only thirty-six, but there had been many times when she felt a hundred, and believed she looked it. She was blonde, and wore her naturally wavy hair at shoulder length since it was most convenient that way. She would have disagreed, but most of those who knew her thought she had a good body. She thought her breasts were too small--"no bigger than Terry's," she thought--and her ass perhaps a little too large. Her thighs, too, might have been somewhat less voluptuous, she felt. She had let Terry persuade her to buy a bikini but, seeing herself in it in the old hall mirror, she had been shaken with a very strange embarrassment and had never worn the skimpy suit except in her backyard.
Her body was healthy. That was the important thing. She took it to work every day and earned a living for herself and Terry. Protecting Terry.
And now--oh, God! how could it have happened?--that protection had failed and there was a frightful, frightening mess to clean up, broken pieces to pick up and sort out. Or so Amy thought.
She had regained her voice as she stood panting before the two stricken kids. She was almost able to be kind. "Go in the house, Terry," she ordered. "Go in and get undressed and get in a tub of hot water. You hear me!" she cried as the girl did not move. "Look at me, Theresa Maria Morris!"
The girl lifted a woebegone, tear-stained face, her tender mouth quivering. "It wasn't Ronnie's fault," she mumbled. "I'm as much to blame as he is. Mom! I mean it!" The young girl's voice was high and shrill. "If you hurt him, I'll--I'll run away from home! I'll hitchhike to Los Angeles!"
It was the ultimate threat. For years, watching her child grow up, Amy had feared for Terry's future, feared the inevitability of sex experiences for this tender child. And dreamed horrible dreams. The worst of these was a vision of her virginal daughter spread-eagled on a bed while dirty boy after dirty boy ravished that tender pink pussy over and over. To run away, to hitchhike to Los Angeles! And there, in that ugly, stinking city, to be held prisoner in a stinking room by a bunch of stinking hippies, to be raped over and over!
The complex thought struck Amy a paralyzing blow. Oh, God, she thought, I daren't force us into a position where neither of us can retreat!
She adjusted her voice and, at the same time, although she was not aware of it, she made an adjustment of her wrath. Unaccountably, it eased the heavy, choking weight in her breast. "I won't hurt him," she said gently to her daughter. "Go inside. Skip the tub. But I have to talk to Ronnie. I can't allow this to go on. I can't! Please, Terry," she said, and now her voice was steady and normal. "Go in the house."
She could not help but notice, as Terry silently arose and turned toward the house, the soft, girlishly mature lines and curves of her young body. So beautiful! Why should some no-good, gangling teenager have and enjoy the juicy perfection, the warmth and beauty, of that gorgeous little woman?
It brought the flame of her anger back, and she looked on the boy with scorn and hatred, thinking of the size and brutal hardness of his cock as she had seen it.
In actual fact, placed as she had been, she had not really seen exactly what had happened. She had reached home only a few minutes before the climax. For a moment, she almost hated her boss for having given her an hour off. It was that hour off, that matter of coming home unexpectedly, that had enabled her to "catch" the two kids. She had wanted to. Now she wished she had not. Not to know, she thought, might be better than knowing.
It was all horrible! All of her life, sex had been horrible to her. To her mother before her. And her mother had been right! She glared at Ronnie, standing humbly, with his curly head hanging, his long but somehow beautiful arms and big hands dangling.
"Now, what shall we do with you, Mister High School Rapist?" she asked in trembling rage. "You can't get away with this, I hope you understand! I can't turn you over to the sheriff. But I know what I can do. I'll tell your mother!"
Her body was tingling with life as she let this mild rage chum out of her. She had not been able to acknowledge the, to her, terrible waves of homy lust that had burned in her as she watched her daughter play with the boy's cock. She could not believe that Terry had sucked it. She had seen that the boy was jabbing the hard prick at her little girl's face. But still, even now, it never occurred to her that this boy's cock had actually been in her little girl's mouth! But she had seen his fingers go out of sight in her daughter's crotch, and knew they must have been in Terry's cunt. She had heard enough to know that the girl had cum. How could she, not even thirteen years old, have that ability? Amy had forgotten what it was like, almost doubted that she had ever known. Confusion, confusion! It made her heart pound, made her body shake. Perhaps it was just as well that she did not know all that had happened. In this state, she knew, she might have tried to kill the boy. And yet even now, looking at him, she felt a strange sympathy with him.
She had known him for years, but had never really been conscious of him as a person for six months. Since she had begun to notice the gradually increasing signs of little Terry's blossoming womanhood. Oh, they had been so close! Such friends! Or at least she had thought so. And now--this boy!
"Go home, Ronnie," she said sadly. "And you'd better stay there. I'll get you for this. I'm going to tell your mother!"
From somewhere, and perhaps with Terry's defiance to guide him, he dredged up a cornered-rat kind of courage, a fatalistic humor. "Go on," he said. "Tell her. I've had more live-in "uncles" than any kid in this area. You think mom's gonna worry about me getting mixed up in a little sex?"
CHAPTER TWO
For a zipping second, Amy wanted to strangle the boy with her bare hands. But as this wave of anger swept her and passed on, it was followed by a deep burst of a weird kind of empathy. In it there was a long-buried, long-denied hatred for her own mother, so different from the easy living woman next door. Where Ronnie's mother slept with any man she liked at the moment, Amy's mother had been wickedly, vengefully, irrationally afraid of sex. There were old scars in Amy's soul--and on her back, for that matter--from her mother's poisonous sex phobias.
She suddenly sat down on the chaise, and said, now in a quiet voice: "Sit down, then. We have to talk."
Gingerly, the boy sat on a heavy old redwood chair. With his head down, he could, and did, look between Amy's thighs. Store rules required her to wear pantyhose. But on a day like this, so warm with September sun, she had stripped them off in the ladies room at the market. So, what Ronnie saw was smooth white flesh, and the dark mystery under a woman's skirt, the deepest and most powerful mystery in the world to this boy.
His eyes were good and his imagination was better. Amy did not spend much time in the sun. Her skin, youthfully smooth because she was a wee bit overweight, was so white that he could see a delicate tracery of blue veins. Like right around Terry's cunt. And he saw drops of sweat, and imagined the dark humidity further up, up to where pressure and structure actually brought them together, to cling with the warmth of perspiration that came from that warmest of all places outside the body. In an odd haze of lust, not checked by any fear, he thought of the blonde cunt between the older woman's legs, thought of the wrinkles between thigh and stomach, the drip of pussy-juice from far up in that hot, mature vagina.
His mouth was dry. His cock had begun to throb. It really scared him. Miz Morris was capable of anything, he knew. Terry had told him, often enough, the terrible things her mother had to say about boys and sex. If she saw his cock rise in his trunks, what might she not do? Unconsciously, he put a hand to the rising bulge in his trunks.
He heard the woman's voice, and shook himself, coming back to the real world in which she represented danger.
"I said, we have to talk," Amy said, not realizing that much of the anger had gone from her voice. "Okay, so it won't do any good to tell your mother." Her voice was scornful. "But maybe I can call the Juvenile Officer."
She watched him, and saw that he did not flinch. She thought of his cock, so hard and dangerous, right at her child's face. She remembered the dreadful way the boy had talked. Well, but--Terry had talked that way, too.
"You think I won't do it because I'd have to turn Terry over to the officers, too. Don't you?" She bit her lower lip. There was a solution to this, somewhere. She was a reasonable woman. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe I think it might be good for Terry to go to a home for a while." Her voice caught on the phrase, and she felt the sting of tears as she turned her face away.
As she turned, she noticed his hand, noticed the bulge in his trunks. Nothing would stop him! Or, if she succeeded in stopping Ronnie, what about the thousands of other males in the area?
She suddenly felt a great sadness at the helplessness of all womankind, all members of the cloven sex, whose bodies are made to receive the hard-thrusting cocks of men. Sadness and, at the same time, a warmth she did not recognize or admit. And perhaps there was some flash of ESP between her and this tall boy, for she knew he had been looking between her legs, thinking about her twat. And in a spark of human insight, she saw that Ronnie, too, was helpless, that he had been made as he was.
She struggled for breath, and then for the right words. In a moment, she choked out: "Why are you after Terry? Why can't you chase some other girl?" And then, in a raging bitterness, she said: "When I think of you--sticking that horrid thing of yours into my daughter--ugh! It makes me sick!" He' answered automatically. "I never stuck it in her. Not yet. She's scared. Maybe I'm scared, too." He gulped, his face red as blood. "I guess I'm the only kid my age in the area that hasn't."
"Hasn't what?" Amy asked, thinking of her daughter as the prostitute of the neighborhood. "The only one who hasn't, uh, had Terry?"
"Oh, no!" the boy cried hotly. "I mean I'm the only one that hasn't had any girl!" He held up a big hand. "Nobody's ever, uh, had Terry."
"And you can't leave her alone?" Amy asked. "Why not?"
The boy seemed to gather his weakened courage. "Because she's the only one I'm not scared of," he said, almost hysterical. "I'm not afraid of her!" And, to Amy's amazement, he began to cry.
Something harsh and painful went out of Amy Morris. And a strange, sacrificial tenderness took its place. She glanced toward her house, and knew that there was no way Terry could see what was happening without running up the blinds over the back bedroom window. She whispered: "Come over here by me, Ronnie. Please! I think I know how we can help each other."
She kept her face turned away from him as he edged over to sit beside her. He made some miscalculation and sat down so close to Amy that his hard thigh was right against hers. The contact made him jump, but not before he had felt the heat from the big thighs.
"I think I know what drives you, Ronnie," she said in a low voice. "After all, you know, I've been married." Fool! she thought. I know less than he does. Less than Terry does. But she went on. "A boy--uh, a man--has sex drives." And then, to her own shock, she put her arm around him and placed her head on his bare chest. "Help me, Ronnie!" she pleaded. "Help me! Is it sex that drives you to my daughter? Is everybody crazy about sex?"
He was still sniffling, but she was aware that he nodded his head. "I can't help it," he said. "I just seem to fill up with that, uh, that stuff. You know, what do they call it? Semen. Yeah, semen." She felt that she was blushing and imagined that he was, too. This isn't the way to go, she thought. This won't get the job done.
She sat up straight, pulled away, and looked at the boy.
"Ronnie," she said, and she tried to keep her voice from shaking, "you and Terry have a special way of talking to each other. About sex, I mean. Tough words. You know what I mean. Words that you wouldn't dare use around grown-ups, right?"
The boy almost smiled. "I told you," he said. "She's the only one I can talk to. Like that, I mean. And I'm the only one who talks to her, that way."
Amy was conscious of a strange warmth, an unexpected feeling all through her belly, such as she had not felt for years. It was not at all unpleasant, nor was it scary. Just nice and warm. She made up her mind to something.
"If I give you everything you want from Terry," she asked, "will you leave her alone? Will you stop trying to, well, you know what I mean." Her face was burning, but she was warm all over.
The tall boy was goggle-eyed. Then he managed a grin. "Why don't you use one of those special words you were talking about, Miz Morris?" he asked.
For some reason, this sally made her feel more comfortable with the boy than she had felt before. "All right, then," she replied. "Will you stop trying to fuck Terry if I let you do anything you want to do with me?"
Some of the early confusion had left her. This solution to her major problem seemed so easy, so pat, that she felt a strong conviction that it had been meant to be. Daughter's future is threatened by love-sex affair with unsuitable male, mother sacrifices herself to keep male away from daughter. Beautiful. But she was aware that Ronnie had not said anything.
She looked directly at him and found he was looking at her, unable to speak.
"I mean it," she said. She took his hand and put it on her belly, shoving his fingers down so that they pressed on the softness of her mound and the pad of her pubic hair. It was, to her surprise, terribly exciting to her. "You can pretend I'm Terry," she whispered, caught up in the grossly sensual proposal. "You can even call me Terry while we do it."
"You're crazy," the boy said harshly. "Or I am. You're only trying to trap me. Get me into trouble." He stood up and turned away, but not before she saw that he had a hard-on. Maybe he didn't really get it all done a while ago, she thought, unaware of what a fifteen-year-old boy's abilities might be.
She reached out to him, and whether it was by accident or not, her hand touched the hardness of his prick, and it was not by accident that her fingers closed around it. She was as desperately confused as he was, and she looked at him blindly and said: "Oh, please, Ronnie! It's not that! I wouldn't trap you. I mean it. Let me do all the things for you that you want from Terry! Please! I mean it!"
Her plea was so intense, so sincere, that it got through to the startled, mixed-up boy. Too, the maternal hand on his cock felt good. It was warm and purposeful. He let the pull of her hand turn him so that his crotch faced her. His heart was beating hard, his breath short. He had the sick feeling of anticipation that he was at last going to accomplish what he never had before, to fuck a woman. To get his cock inside a hot, wet, tight cunt. But still, he was worried.
"What about Terry?" he asked. "What'll she think?"
Amy jumped up with a twisted smile. Her face felt stiff. There was an unfamiliar sense of wetness in her crotch. When she had peeled off her pantyhose, she had left her ass bare. No need for her to wear both panties and pantyhose. In her quiet, uneventful life, where there was no thought of sex to intrigue her, there was no need to defend herself against the sudden ooze of pussy juice. It was a strange feeling. She liked it.
She ran into the house, not knowing exactly what she would do about Terry. Send her to a movie? Stupid! What, then?
Her problem had already been solved. On the kitchen table was a large note. "Gone to Sally Pruitt's" it read, and it was signed simply with Terry's name.
Amy had an instant to wonder at herself, to worry about her actions. Was this the way to protect Terry? And did she want to? She found herself unbuttoning her green uniform dress as she walked out the kitchen door where Ronnie waited, sitting on the chaise, his hands braced, his head down.
Amy did not trust herself to talk. Her voice might fail her. She had not had sexual relations with any man for ten years, since the day that Ralph had simply walked out, leaving her with a two-year-old daughter. But it was the daughter whom she thought of now, the girl she had spent her life on. Somehow, thinking of Terry made what she was doing seem right. Something was helping her. She was warm and eager. For Christ's sake, she thought, I feel girlish!
She stood directly before the gangling boy, feeling very bold. Her uniform was open all the way. Her bra, also a concession to store rules of dress, was a skimpy thing. Her breasts were as firm as her daughter's, and she was amazed that, in this moment of awful decision, she could think of her breasts and be proud of their shape and size and youthful resilience. By leaning forward slightly, Ronnie would be able to take one of them in his mouth. The thought gave her some more of that strange glow in her belly, a wash of heat that tickled in her cunt, that caused a trembling of muscle deep up inside her.
Without a word, she pushed her bra up so that her titties stood out, and pulled the boy's head toward her.
The warmth and power of his ready suction made her knees weak. This was good, this action without words. It made it easy for both of them, for she knew how embarrassed the boy must be. She began to stroke his smooth, hard-muscled young back, letting her hands come up and tangle in his curly hair. He must have liked it, for he burrowed harder against her suddenly sensitive breast, and his sucking sent a lance of flame down through her guts, clutching around her womb.
"Ronnie," she said suddenly, her voice clear and strong, "take off those surfers. I want to see you." She giggled. "In all your glory," she said rather wildly. "And I'll take off my uniform and bra."
He did not take his mouth from her swollen tit, simply easing his butt from side to side and using one hand to shuck the trunks down. To make it seem more real, he lifted his big feet, one at a time, freeing himself from the trunks, so that he was now completely naked. Goddamn, she really means it, he thought. I'm really going to fuck her.
He began to play with her body, running his hands over the smooth skin of her rump. The globes of her ass were large and, to him, beautiful. The very idea of feeling a naked woman's naked ass was exciting, a bold lewdness far different than he had ever felt when he was playing with Terry. Perhaps because he always knew how that would turn out. A hand-job. Jism shooting out on the leaves on the arbor deck. The thought that this time would be different gave him a sense of urgency, so that he forgot what would be the normal manners for a teenager with a grown-up.
He increased the pressure of his arms around the blonde woman, dragging her off balance, so that she fell across him. Her tit popped out of his mouth, and she was giggling, feeling committed, feeling young and silly and carefree, an utterly strange feeling for her. She could not remember, ever in her life before, feeling like this.
She let him wrestle her over on the broad couch, loving the feel of the clean, rough canvas on her back, and found herself reaching for his hard young cock. She felt so good that she was moved to speech.
"Golly, Ronnie, aren't you pretty big?" she asked, holding on to the hard prong. Her voice caught in her throat but she got the words out. "Are you going to stick this big thing in me?"
The boy began to laugh. "You better believe it, Miz Morris," he answered. "Remember your promise. You'll do whatever I want. Whatever I'd want Terry to do."
The woman laughed. She was confident, now. One word of disgust or dislike from him, one moment of flinching, and she would have been devastated by a rejection she could not cope with. Now, with both of them committed, she felt a sudden loosening of tension all through her body, a new warmth in her cunt. She was almost smothering with a feeling of urgency, and realized what it was, an earnest desire to have that large, hard prick inside of her.
In a split second of intuition, she realized what had happened in her frightened, prudish mind and soul. She felt no guilt Since she was doing this for Terry, her conscience was not only free of guilt, she literally felt exalted. Therefore, she could allow her body to yearn for this big cock, could permit her cunt to do what it had never truly done before, to ache in welcoming heat, trembling and ready.
But the boy, arched above her as she tried to aim his cock at her drooling slit, was pulling away. She felt a tremendous stab of apprehension. "Oh, Ronnie," she moaned, "please don't go away! Please let me put it in!"
He grunted and stood up, leaving her spread out, one hand over her eyes, one over her opened pussy.
"Don't worry, Miz Morris," he said. "But this is my first time, and I want to see it, to see everything!"
He looked around, and Amy lay there, dumbly aching, but relieved that the boy was not rejecting her. After coming this far, after her strange flipover from prude to willing sex object, she could not have stood it. She heard him grunt, and saw that he was moving some plants from an old, sturdy table. He grinned at her in white-toothed nervousness.
"Get up and let me get the pad," he said, and Amy, shivering with excitement and sensing what he meant to do, helped him arrange the thick chaise pad over the table and got up on it. She looked at him earnestly, seeing the reflection of her own excitement in his young face. He was between her knees, his cock at exactly the right level to enter her as soon as she lay back.
What she did was to raise her legs so that they wrapped around his narrow hips, spreading her thighs wide and opening her cunt so that she felt the warm summer air on its inner lips. She was still in a sitting position, and she put up her face for a kiss. When he felt the warmth of her thighs against his flesh, he eased his cock up so that it faced her pussy, but he took the time to kiss the older woman.
It was their first kiss, and the extent of her heat came as a distinct shock to Amy. She had had so little real good sex in her life, so little that was satisfactory, that she could not believe her body would respond so freely. Ralph had known as little as she, and while she had some idea of what she had missed, even that idea was dim and hazy.
Now as she felt the boy's long, hard tongue in her mouth--more, as she thrust her tongue deeply and searchingly into his sweet young mouth--she let herself go, rubbing her breasts savagely against his ribs, humping her ass toward him awkwardly, feeling the slide of unused muscles in her vagina like a ghostly finger touching her soft, secret places of joy.
The boy's thoughts were no longer of Terry. She was his own true love, but this was real. His mind painted all the lustful pictures he had ever cherished in dreams, all the things he would do, now that he really had a sex partner who was without fear. The very recent orgasm had drained off the top of his store of jism, and with it, had drained off the shameful eagerness which would have made him cum too soon. That meant that he could be confident, and this thought made him even more eager to fuck his sweetheart's mother.
He suddenly pulled his mouth from hers and firmly pushed her down on the pad. Her uniform and bra had long since been shucked off. He was fiercely aware of her nakedness, her breasts swollen so large by lust, her nipples so big and hard. He had read of this phenomenon. But what he wanted was her cunt.
The sense of urgency in Amy's body made her strangely quiet. She did not even seek to hold on to the boy's cock, her instincts telling her that now, on her back and with him between her opened thighs, her role was to give and receive as women have always done. She held her breasts, aware that they felt heavier than she could remember, and with an intense feeling of sex magic in them as she squeezed them hard.
There was a powerful aroma of hot pussy swirling up into the inexperienced nostrils of the boy. Amy had been on her feet most of the day, moving, reaching, stretching. Under her pantyhose and uniform, the warmth of her cunt had been preserved. During her breaks, sitting in the lounge, her solid hundred-and-twenty pounds had kept her soft, thick cuntlips compressed. In her, as in all mature women, this warmth and her humanity combined to create a deep richness of aroma and, if one got right down to it, of flavor. A couple of visits to the toilet and a hasty wipe had contributed the acridity of piss to the ensemble.
Lust was almost choking the boy, but he knew what he wanted. With his strong hands, he gripped Amy's ankles and pushed them back and up. He groaned in pleased anticipation as he saw the sodden cunt hairs part, saw the thick lips pop open to reveal the pink petals of flesh that trembled inside them. He looked up to see Amy's eyes staring at him, and she humped her ass at him, whispering: "Go on, Ronnie! Put it in!"
He laid her legs wide open, resting her feet just on the edge of the improvised bed. "See what I mean?" he croaked. "It's right here in front of me. I can watch it go in!"
"Lovely, lovely," the woman whispered raggedly. "But hurry! Stick it in! I'm about to cum!"
He had intended to spit on the head of his cock so that it would go in easily, as he often did when he was jerking off in his backyard. But he saw that the entire valley of her sex, from clit to asshole, was sopping wet, and that more juice was leaking out of quivering fuck hole in a frothy stream.
He felt his nuts draw up as though he were about to cum, and closed his eyes to hide the hot sight of Amy's opened pussy. He placed the head of his cock exactly where it needed to go, right in the cluster of pink bubbles of slick membrane, and let an inch go in. It was better than anything he had ever imagined. It was so smooth! It went in so easily! And, as he pulled it out just for the joy of watching what happened, Amy did what she had never done before, as well as she could remember.
Her cunt, so hungry all these years, so mentally frozen with ignorance and guilt and now so free and loving, squeezed down sharply on the tenderest part of Ronnie's cock, bringing a yelp of pleasure and surprise.
To Amy, it was something extra in the way of pleasure. To have a pussy which could do such things! And the quick compression around the hard cock gave her a tingling, itching sensation all through her body, but especially in her clitoris. She had no idea of how she did it, but in some way she managed to hump her ass forward, getting most of the boy's big dick into her. It was too much to bear in silence.
"Oh, God!" she cried. "Oh, how wonderful! Fuck it into me, Ronnie! Fuck it deeper! Fuck into my cunt! OHHHHH! OHHHHH!"
She began to cum, a long-forgotten feeling, and knew that her free use of the forbidden words, words that had seemed so harsh and ugly, but now were warm and beautiful, was making it easier and more wonderful to shoot her load. She held up her arms. "Kiss me!" she cried blindly, wildly. "Kiss me, baby! Give me your tongue! Squeeze my titties!"
And then, as a deeper spasm squirmed and rolled inside her, in the darkness around her womb, she locked her legs around the boy again and began to fuck against him, literally unconscious of anything except the fulfillment of her needs, the shooting fire of her orgasm that was blasting the breath out of her.
The boy was, for a moment, totally aghast. When he had made little Terry cum, it had been wild and exciting, but never with such wanton fervor, such power. She had used the same words, but it had seemed like play. And she had used them always in a negative sense: "Oh, Ronnie, I wish I could let you fuck me, but you know I can't!" And here was this hot woman, a woman he had always sensed to be cold and aloof, fucking with the abandon of a bitch in heat, and shouting obscenities as she fucked.
And he had seen it all, had seen the pearly pink clit protruding as far as it could from its taut closure of membrane, and the juicy convolutions of her inner lips, their color heightened by the tracery of surface veins distended with blood. He had watched his hard pole go into it, had seen how it pulled her inner cuntlips along with it. He stood trembling, about to cum, and not wanting to just yet. He could feel the increase in slickness inside Amy's vagina, and could imagine the gorgeous sloppiness inside, in those folds of muscle and inner lining.
He looked at Amy unafraid. She was a grown woman, that fearful being, a grown-up. And he was fucking her, making her cum.
He stood above her, his cock deep in her, feeling as much of a man as he would ever feel. He wanted to let this heavy load of his seed shoot into that warmly clutching cunt. But he wanted it in a different way. He raised one of her legs over his head, pulling his prick out of her. It was dripping with her cum juices, and his mouth watered as he inhaled the strong, rich smell of pussy.
"Oh, don't!" Amy cried, blindly clutching at his cock. "You promised we'd do everything! Oh, Ronnie, I'm hurting! " He patted her on her rump. "I'm not quitting," he said. "I just want you on top when I cum. Let me take the pad."
It only took a second or two, and Amy stood trembling as he threw the thick chaise pad down and lay on it, his cock proudly thrusting into the air.
"It made me ache inside for you to take it out," she said in a hoarse whisper. "What do I do? Get across you? Yes, I know what to do." She was giggling, flooded with relief. The sharp pain in her cunt had been replaced by a warm glow, and she straddled his loins eagerly. "You'll have to help me aim it," she said. "Oh, Ronnie, you were so wonderful! You fucked me so great!"
She could feel the oozings from her channel slipping out between her cuntlips. Now that she was in the upper position, everything was reversed, the top of her pussy had now become the bottom; her cum juice was leaking right up around her clit, tickling it until she was almost crazy.
The boy was overjoyed. He had actually had his cock in a cunt! Disloyally, he thought that it must be better than Terry's. It was thicker lipped, the hair was longer and thicker. It even smelled stronger. Better yet, she was begging him to fuck, not him begging.
The woman's face was alive with excitement, her eyes bright, her cheeks flaming pink. "When I get it in me, I'll ride you until you yell for mercy," she said. Her ass was moving back and forth, the dripping head of the hard cock touching her on the insides of her thighs, then in the crack of her ass, giving her an intense feeling of anticipation. When she thought that all this wetness had been brought out of her cunt by this boy's cock, the idea made her guts cramp into a knot of desire.
To tease her, Ronnie, humped his muscular young ass up, and his cock glanced off the open, juice-dripping lips of her pussy. It felt so good that he moaned: "OOHHHH! Man, Miz Morris, that felt good!" He lifted his head and looked down his naked belly. He could see the bush of dry pubic hair, a dull yellow, and he saw it framed by her swollen titties, which hung down and nearly touched his chest. He saw his cock, shining with cunt dew, its red tip only an inch or so from the hole he craved.
"Hold still," he ordered. "Let me get it in you!"
He reached behind her, his long arm enabling him to get a hand right on her wet pussy. It was wide open, and he got a finger in her cunthole. He saw their trouble. "Move your body up a little," he said hoarsely. "No. Not up in the air. Just move everything toward my head."
He got his other hand on his cock, and rubbed it in her cleft until he had the head far back, where it had to be.
"Now," he ordered, "just go back gently. I think it's aimed right. Oh, wow! That's it! Oh, go easy! You're pulling the skin off it!" And then, feeling a sudden, genuine affection for this woman who was giving him this rich experience, he stroked her taut ass with both hands. Pressing, stretching, so that he knew her brown and puckered asshole would be involved in the pain and pleasure of stretching.
With a little cry of completion and triumph, the older woman let her upper body go and lay on him, her cheek against his, her body quivering slightly. "Ronnie," she said in a hoarse whisper, "you've got it in me deeper than anyone ever had it before."
She humped a little, and he felt the sensitive head of his cock strike something hard and slick. He went by it, and then was conscious of a hard, smooth, soft pressure all over the tip of it. He moaned and kissed Amy's ear, and she turned her face and fiercely began to suck his tongue.
All the while, he could feel a quivering in her flanks, the smooth slide of her belly as she moved slightly. He brought his hands up and began to massage her breasts, which were alongside his ribcage. They were bulging with hot blood, and he could feel Amy moan with lust and delight as he rolled them under his palms. The nipples were very big and hard.
The position, with her knees almost up to his armpits and her thighs along his hips, made them very close, almost as if they were one body, with one set of nerves. He could feel her cunt nervously closing on his dick, and she could feel the measured pumping of blood through his cock.
She began to pump back and forth on the hard roll of boy-meat inside her, almost wild with the joyful sense of being filled to the ripping point with cock. Each time her cervix banged against his penis, she squirmed inside with a deep, hard pleasure, aware of the flow of her vaginal juices. I never felt anything like this before, she told herself. It was true. She had never known any true involvement with sex, for she had never felt that she was truly a participant, but only a sleeve of flesh to catch some man's cum.
Now, she had initiated it, she knew she was doing something good and right and moral. Her motives had been pure and clean, and now she was reaping her just reward--she was enjoying it more than she could ever have imagined.
In her position, parallel not only to his body but to the line in which his prick moved in and out, her entire cuntal area was pressed against his hard prick. The tender inner labia, dripping with her juices, felt the hard, hot rub of his cock. The big pole, stretching her unaccustomed cunt, pressed between her belly and his by her weight, seemed to strip the heavy outer lips away from her clitoris, so that it was dancing with incandescent joy as her movements made him plunge in and pull out.
He felt the warm, sloppy heat of her cunt ooze flowing down onto his balls, creeping like a slow-moving tide amongst the roots of his pubic hair. He let go her tongue for breath, and inhaled the rich, chokingly beautiful odors of hot cunt and hard cock, testing each other, and the added beauty of this rich aroma touched the hidden trigger in his cock and balls, the cum-trigger.
He suddenly began to lash up at her body, holding her around the ribs so tightly that she would have cried out except that she had begun to cum again, and her aching throat could only bring out a long moan. She began to pump furiously, jackhammering her cunt up and down, feeling a deeper penetration as she jammed herself down on the skewering prick. And, with that heat and friction, Ronnie began to explode the load in his strong young nuts.
Cum-fire ran through him, starting in the aching head of his cock, burning all the way to his tightly drawn balls. It was this flowering of his lust that had jerked his body up against the woman's, and now she, more than ready to cum, felt the hot flow of his seed spurting from his cock, filling her writhing cunt with his long jets of opalescent semen.
She was screaming, a staccato series of high, excited cries. "STICK IT IN ME, RONNIE! DEEPER, DEEPER, DEEPER! OH MY GOD! OH SWEET RONNIE! FUCK ME, BABY! FUCK ME HARD, RONNIE! AAARRRGGGHHH! AAARRRGGGHHH! OH, OH, OH! SHOOT YOUR JUICE INTO ME! OH, GOD, I'M CUMMING SO HARD!"
Her body was jerking in a hard rhythm that matched her loud screams, but just as suddenly, she went slack, seemingly boneless, as the last of her orgasm blew out. She was still aware of everything, every last part of this fantastic experience, although she was apparently out of it. Every millimeter of her cuntal surfaces, inside and out, seemed charged with a keenly tuned, nervously responsive life. The boy was still fucking up at her, his cock expanding and firing jets of his sperm. He was making wordless little animal noises, and she had a flash of wonder that such a young boy could enjoy sex so much. He was like a pagan, someone never exposed to the harsh, mindless restrictions of so-called parental guidance. It made her think of herself, of the terrible bullying of her own mother and of how she had passed it on to Terry. But still, she was happy and warm in a strange new way.
She realized that she had been kissing at the boy's clean, sweated neck, and that her breasts, smashed against him, seemed languidly awake with sex power, even though her cunt had gone slack. "It lasts a long time," she said dreamily. And when Ronnie moved and said, in a far-away voice: "What does?" she murmured: "The good feeling. The good fuck-feeling."
CHAPTER THREE
To Amy Morris, this rolling, naked, on a chaise pad freckled with bird dung and warmly sweet with the smell of sun and dust, was like a dream. The sun had moved, and a broad ray of it was shining directly into the sweat-slicked crack of her ass, which seemed so wide open due to her position. It kept Ronnie's and her cum juices from cooling, and she felt a very warm sensation of gooey wetness. She was aware that the tall young boy was giggling, and she felt giggly, too.
His hands went exploring in the spread of her ass, his warm hands pressing in the cum-smeared area, and he said: "I didn't know I could shoot that big a wad!"
She kissed him briefly, pushing his curly hair back from a sweaty forehead and looking fondly down at him, said: "Remember, some of that belongs to me!"
His cock, which was growing smaller but which still felt good up there inside her vagina, made a slipping movement, and she cried out: "Hey! Wait a minute! Keep it in!"
He patted her on the rump affectionately, feeling equal to any adult in the world, and said: "A man's cock has to rest up, you know. Listen, are you really going to do all you said? Everything I might want Terry to do?"
Amy answered promptly. "A promise is a promise, to me. Of course I'll do anything for you." But she did not add that it would now be because she wanted to, that a whole new life had been opened to her by this strong, healthy kid with the pleasant face and the strong, hard cock. She had an idea of what he had in mind, and she shivered with lust. It was frightening as well as exciting, for it was something she had done only a few times, in the hazy long ago of her girlhood, long before Ralph appeared on her particular scene.
"Go ahead," she said softly. "Tell me what you want. And, listen, talk plain. You know. Those special words."
His cock had now softened so much that it was almost out of her. It was still large, but her tightness and a faint activity of her vaginal muscles was slowly forcing it out. Involuntarily, her cunt tried to close on it, to keep it in her, and it squeezed out. "Oooooh," she moaned softly. "I hate to lose it!"
Ronnie rubbed his hands up and down her back. "You know what I'd like?" he asked. "I bet you won't do it."
"And I'll bet I will," Amy answered. "But I want you to say it, hear? I want you to say it in plain language."
"Okay," the young lad replied. "How about sucking it? I mean, how about sucking my cock?" A wave of love and heat swept the woman's body, flamed in her mind, both being so unaccustomed to any emotion or pleasure above the dreary level of everyday give-and-take, the motions we all go through as a matter of survival.
"Oh, I will, Ronnie! I will!" she replied in a voice made husky by a sudden passion, an unexpected rush of saliva in her mouth. "But I'm losing all that good stuff inside my pussy! I feel it leaking out, dripping and slipping down around my asshole. It just seems terrible and wasteful to lose it! Why don't you suck me, first?"
The tall kid with the curly hair and the tanned young face tweaked one of her nipples, a good, hard pinch that almost dissolved her guts with warm pain and pleasure. "No way," he said. "You lick me first. I'll hold a finger in your cunt so the juice doesn't leak out. It'll feel good to you that way. And then, I promise, I'll suck you all out. Every bit!" His voice sounded a bit ragged, as if his breath were rasping at the thought.
"Okay, then," Amy laughed. "I'll roll off and lie on my side. Remember, I'll have to make a hundred-and-eighty degree turn, though. So get your finger in me now, 'cause we don't want to lose it, any of it, do we? After all, a lot of it's your cum. This way, you get it almost all back, plus some of my own." The thought made a wiggle of cum-nerves dance in the dark of her twat, and she muttered: "Jesus! I could talk myself into another cum!"
She rolled off, lying on her left side, and guided his hand to the puffed out, sloppily sweet lips of her pussy. As she had felt them to be, they were wide open, as if they had been turned inside out, and they were not anesthetized at all by her giant orgasm. Instead, they were coming back to a cum-quick intensity of feeling, the same hungry intensity that had so inflamed her when Ronnie had first touched her cunt. His finger felt as big as his cock, and she fucked against it softly, laughing to herself.
"God, Miz Morris, I can't understand how you can be so tight," Ronnie said. "Terry's just twelve, and never been screwed at all, and I don't believe she's as tight as you are!"
She felt gay and free. Mention of her daughter in this context should have raised the hackles on her neck. Instead, she felt an enormously competitive pride that she owned such a marvelous piece of female bodily equipment. A cunt so tight that a young boy, with only her tight young daughter to use as a yardstick, would be moved to praise her for having a notably constricted cunt.
She gurgled: "How sweet, Ronnie! Hold your finger in it, baby. I'm going to turn around on it."
She kissed him on his open mouth one more time, then made her turn, almost losing his finger in the process. After she was settled, and felt for sure that the finger would do its job, she moved her body slightly so that she could reach and fondle his wet and sticky cock.
"Oh, wow!" she breathed. "He's still nice and fat! Bigger than I thought when he slipped out of me! But his pretty red head is all pulled back under the skin." She laughed lightly, her thumb and finger around the base of it, in his neat bush of crinkly brown hair, all wet and matted down with their cum juices.
"Push it back with your lips," the boy said boldly, giving his finger a twist deep inside her, a sharp application of pressure that made her lunge violently against his strong hand.
She had to suck in and swallow some spit as she wet her lips, and she closed her eyes as she took the warm, sticky thing into her mouth. There was a gamey tang to it, as much smell as taste, but it was the texture that made her go taut with desire. Soft, smooth, warm, mouth-filling. She had thought she would not know what to do, but it was as easy as sucking a lollipop. Only so much sweeter! She did indeed push the skin back from the head with her tongue, and uncovered a new treasure of taste in the wet folds of thick, soft skin.
She had a pretty good idea that some of the strong taste was due to the normal humidity under a man's foreskin. While a natural distaste--natural? Her subconscious mind denied it bitterly--had kept her from exploring her cunt in interest and curiosity, she nevertheless was at least familiar with its smell. On overly warm days, she had occasionally gone into the employees' lounge, into the toilets, and touched her vulva with one of those ready-moistened towels. She knew what her pussy smelled like and tasted like. And Ronnie's cock was the same.
She sucked it gently, moving her head from side to side. It was really quite large, even if it was soft. It went clear back to the opening in her throat, where the food went down. The thought made her suck it with more interest. There was a delightful taste which was barely familiar. In the time so long ago, when someone she loved and trusted had forced something on her in a way that, at the time, she had thought was horrible.
She let go the cock for a moment, laughing and happy, and when Ronnie cried: "Hey! Get back on it!" she answered with a question: "What's your special word for what comes shooting out of this lovely peter? Not semen, not sperm. What is it?"
He pulled her hair with his free hand. "It's jism," he said. "Good old jism. You like it?"
"Mmmmmm!" she whispered. "I love it! It's so rich and slick, so wholesome tasting!" She jacked the loose skin up and down gently. "It's the difference between a boy and a man, isn't it?"
He was delighted, pumping his loins against her hand. "It sure is," he declared. "Men can shoot it, kids can't."
She kissed the wet red head, now growing slightly. "Real little kids, you mean," she teased him.
He was unperturbed. "Men, big kids, whatever. When you can shoot it, you're getting grown up. Suck it some more!"
She held the stem and licked down into the wet and matted hair at its thick base. The mingled cum juices were getting dry and flakey, but the rich taste was there.
The taste and texture of the cum-soaked pubic hair was suddenly compulsively attractive. She moved slightly, still with her soft fingers around the column of his cock, and mouthed his young balls, their sac now relaxed so that the tender eggs hung down on his hairless thighs. She remembered that an older man's scrotum is thickly haired, and grinned in the privacy of his sweated crotch. A long time ago, she thought grudgingly. Why did I quit remembering? Why didn't I go after Ralph this way?
The boy liked what she was doing. She could tell by the action of his finger in her twat, by his heavy breathing, by the movement of the heavy cock she held in her hand. She sucked the balls as carefully as she had sucked his cock, taking care not to hurt him. A fire was building in her vagina, all through her reproductive system. It seemed a shame to do it on his finger, but she thought: What the hell. One place or another, one way or another, as long as it's with Ronnie!
She remembered that somehow, she had closed those muscles down on him. Hadn't she? How had she done it? She thought of how she pressed with them to get out the last few drops when she urinated. As she thought of it, the knack came back to her, she felt her cunt nip on Ronnie's finger. Along with that, which made him grunt in amazement, she felt her own cum-nerves tighten.
It was such a joyful feeling, and gave her such an exciting sense of accomplishment, that she did it again, and then again. As she did it for the third time, she felt the itching tremor of muscle deep up her twat, and opened her mouth to let his wet balls go, darting her head back to suck in his cock, which had gotten noticeably larger.
This magic feeling of having the boy's cock in her mouth, tasting again that between-the-toes funkiness of flavor and odor, suddenly twisted her inside with a burning drive that seemed to lift her off the ground, a hard spasm of nerves that made her cry out with her mouth full of cock. Lying on her side, her mouth happily attached to the sweet prick, she could only flail her entire body from side to side, letting the big, warm waves of orgasm flow through her and out of her cunt, almost tangible in their strength and beauty. In her struggles, she got one thigh over the naked boy, so that he saw the big lips, covered with dark blonde hair, dark with fuck-juice near the lips, then getting gray as cunt oils dried.
He dug his finger into her again and again, watching the pearly semen slowly run out onto his hand, watching the tight ring of pink flesh work on his finger as if it were trying to suck him in. And the look of it, the clean, throat-clogging smell, gave him an idea. He reached with his free hand and squeezed a breast.
"Hey," he said huskily. "Move your leg over me some more. Move your body. Get your pussy over my mouth."
It was hard to let go his cock but she did it. "Oh, Ronnie," she gasped, "are you sure you want to do that?"
He moved his finger, but more gently. "A promise is a promise," he said. "With me, the same as with you. Move it! " She giggled again, but found it hard to get enough breath in her lungs. To get her cunt sucked! It was unbelievable! It was one of the things that had happened long ago, when she was a girl, one of the things, the terrible hang-up. But made up the foundation for a lifetime hang-up. But she felt a fierce glow inside her, a hard desire not just for a renewed experience, but for the pagan joy of total lovemaking, of total sex. If I could, she thought feverishly, I'd take the entire boy into me. If he could get his whole hand into my pussy, he could pull at my womb like it was a tit!
Once again she felt the warmth of the sun on her wide-open ass, and she waited, almost holding her breath, to see what would happen. And how it would feel.
She hoped it would be slow and easy, a warm, wet feeling of joy spreading over all her most sensitive parts. And it was. She took his cock into her mouth again, fascinated to find it truly hard again, just as it had been when he had fucked it into her trembling and happy pussy so recently. It tasted the same, but now she knew what it was like to have it stretching her throat, to feel it closing her breathing apparatus, her gullet. And it was not gagging her, which was strange.
She went down on it again, gradually, enjoying the smoothness of the head and skin, the wonderful promise of the hard muscle underneath. And then she felt her own ultimate beauty.
There was a slight pang as his finger came out of her twat, the same hard little pain as when he had taken his cock out of her, only not so intense. But she felt his head move, and knew the magic sweetness of his warm breath on the tender, shrinking flesh of her vulva, just before the wet, moving heat of his lips covered those dripping pink petals of her cuntlips.
She had thought she would jump out of her skin at this hot contact, but instead it was so warm and sweet, so right, that she let her body move languorously against his sucking mouth, his probing tongue. And she could feel them both and separate the feel of them both. His mouth seemed so big and so wet, to cover all of her that way. It felt as if he were sucking those softly formed inner labia deep into his mouth, against his teeth and gums. He was moving his mouth toward her cunt hole, and when he got there, his tongue squirmed into it as hard and as authoritatively as if it were a cock.
She found that she was sucking his cock again, and all of it, the taste, the lovely smoothness, the male hardness, gave her a surge of happiness and heat. This is sex, she thought, as it should be. This is love, and the idea shook her so that she went down too hard, the cock hurting her throat as it went far down. An hour ago she had hated this boy with a fierce, murderous passion. Now she was sucking his cock and he was sucking her pussy. What did they call it? Sixty-nine! And she realized why it was, her ass drawn tight and with her thighs alongside Ronnie's head, making the six, while his drawn-up legs created the rough semblance of a nine. She burned with a blush, and it made everything feel warmer and better. Her hatred, then, had been a false thing. If she had needed one more clincher on her change of attitude, one more argument to go with her conviction of righteousness to free her from any chill of sin, this was it. Not hatred but love. Yes. She could, indeed, love this boy, whose loneliness turned him to her daughter. "She's the only one I can talk to," he had said. And with that, as her cunt responded to his mouth, and as she laved his cock with long, sweet strokes of her tongue, she had a wayward blaze of insight. Fear and loneliness had made her daughter turn to Ronnie because the child did not fear him.
She wished she could suck his balls as she had a few minutes ago, but she would not let go his cock to suck them. Instead, she felt cunningly between his thighs and cradled them in her hand, pulling them as gently as if they might blow away like thistledown. There was a smell of heat and humanity coming up to her nostrils. In her state of lust, of hazy thoughts of love, she had dark visions of sucking his asshole, wishing her mouth was big enough to cover all of them.
The boy was so filled with the conquering male spirit that he could have burst. An hour ago, he had been a stupid, ignorant kid who had no place to shoot his seed except on the summer air. If he got a few drops on Terry's arm, or her hand--an event which always made her scream at him--he felt a sort of triumph. Now, he had changed all that.
He had seen Terry's cunt until he was sick of it. As he had said, in his practice rims of gamey language, he had soaked his finger in her vagina until his fingernails were falling out. But this was so much more beautiful. To see this cunt really meant something. More than a dumb kid like Terry could ever know. It was mature and thick-lipped, the inner lips were larger and had more juice flowing from them to give them slickness and highlights, and they were now reddened by blood engorging the surface veins. Best of all, it was here, it was now, and he was sucking it. Just the feel of that pumped-up cunt flesh under his lips, the tickle of damp cunt hair on his cheeks, made him feel warm deep inside, deeper than his balls, deeper than where his cock disappeared into his fundament. It must be where his body created semen, for he felt a hot and rising tide of passion as the mature cunt swept back and forth across his face, tuned to the woman's heat, her own inner rhythms. He felt her breasts on his belly. He liked thinking of them as breasts instead of mere tits. And the fact that she was actually sucking his cock made it all complete and beautiful. A grown woman, sucking his cock! Unbelievable!
He began to heave his body up slightly, and heard Amy grunt with pleasure as she went down on him. Her body was moving, and he was timing his sucking and kissing to that movement. He knew she was enjoying it, because she was flooding his mouth with her joy juice. He had sucked down all of his cum long before. It was saltier and thicker than her delicately aromatic cum fluids. Now the taste of her cum goo was a part of the magic of it all, of the movements of her ass, the feel of her breasts, the loving friction of her tongue and throat on his prick, which was getting readier and readier to shoot another load. It made him extremely proud.
There were times when he jerked off twice in one day. Once or twice, when he had first blackmailed Terry into their childishly raunchy games, he had let the wild excitement of seeing and feeling and smelling a cunt carry him as high as three cums, either in his hand or Terry's. And such excesses had always left him weak and depleted, a victim of fear and conscience. Now, he felt wonderful. He was a man, fucking a woman who delighted in fucking, although he had no idea why. "She's just terrible about sex," Terry had said many a time. "I think she hates men and their peters, but more than that, she hates herself and her cunt." That was what Terry swore was true. Suck me hard, baby, he thought lasciviously. Suck me real sweet, grown-up woman with the hot pussy, and I'll fill your mouth with my jism!
The bubbly-pink hole that went into Amy's body, the hole he had fucked into, kept leaking little trails of its juices. They had been clear, but now the churning of her cunt muscles, which he felt whenever he shoved his tongue into her slick depths, had made the liquid frothy, like the bubbles on an ice cream soda.
He had been squeezing her breasts with both hands, in the same rhythm as the movement of her body, his thrusting cock, but now there was an urgency of bursting fire in his loins, the promise of another load of his seed.
He moved his arms up and over her butt, pulling her against his mouth, and began sucking on her hole as hard as he could. He got mouthfuls of her cunt ooze, but she got the final storm of pleasure-nerves that seemed to lift her a dark wave of fire. He was sucking the walls of her vagina together! She felt the fiery rasp of nerve-end on nerve-end as her cunt-walls clung together.
As she let his cock come out of her throat to where her lips and tongue could milk the tender head, the boy, having sucked her cunt dry, dived into her muff, into the top of her slit, digging for her throbbing, screaming clit with his tongue.
They were both grunting like mating pigs as he began to shoot his spurts of semen into her. He was concerned with her rights and her needs, because he knew she had gone a long way to make something wonderful and real happen to them both, so he was determined to suck every need from her body. He dimly remembered her promise to do everything for him so that he would not have to bust his ass trying to fuck Terry. So good, so sweet! In an unreal way, he caught some glimpse in his overheated mind of what love was, and how it was connected with sex. No matter what any grown-up said. He felt her cum again and again, and he felt his own seed rise and burst and flow in long, hot jerks out of his cock.
As she had begun this long series of orgasms, each one a hot little sunburst of joy, centering now in her clitoris, now around her asshole, now deep in her vagina, Amy craved Ronnie's jism as a thirsting traveler craves cool water. She had no idea what to do with it. It had tasted so wholesome to her, so clean, so much a part of this dear boy's very self. But that had been only a little of it. What would she do with so much?
She felt his prick rise and swell and she knew what was coming. It was halfway to her throat when the first jet flooded her mouth. It was hotter than she had expected. Thicker, and more of it.
But it was richer and more delightful than anything she had ever imagined. Had she some old, far-off memory of that, too?
But the first spurt decided the question of what she would do with it. Simply and positively.
Each drop became a treasure. She swallowed, and was swallowing when his cock speared down into her throat again. Her powerful throat muscles gave the boy's sensitive cock such pleasure that he shouted against her cunt, his deepened voice giving her most sensitive areas a delightful vibration.
As her throat muscles released, the echo of their wet caress drew another blast of his sperm into her throat; as she swallowed again, it was like the hottest movement of cunt muscles on him. He cried out again, and now he was only kissing her cunt in small smacks and sucks, letting himself go in complete enjoyment of his own treat, using the gaping, flowing, sated cunt as an erotic picture to stimulate the surge of delight in his cockhead, in all his system.
After the last spurt of his slick seed had ebbed into her pleasured mouth, she continued to suck, but with the lightness she knew would not be too much for his nerves. And she was very close to remembering the terrible things she had forgotten, to remember that a man's cock, milked of its sperm is very tender, painfully so. But this big boy-cock was so sweet. Smooth as the skin on a baby. Giving out its last throb to tell her the boy was happy.
She felt an odd sensation, not painful but almost. Teasing. Something in the least tender parts of her pussy. Regretfully, she let the wilting cock fall from her mouth, kissed the boy heartily on the insides of both his sweating thighs, and asked: "What's that wild thing you're doing to me, Ronnie? It's so lovely I don't think I can stand it." The boy laughed, gave her smooth rump a spank, and rolled out from under her, pushing her on her side. He swiveled so that their faces were close and said: "You know what happens when your cum juice begins to dry? It makes flakes on your hairs. I was sucking some of that off your cunt hair." He giggled. "Some of it I scraped off with my teeth." Another laugh. "It's delicious." She hugged him, her swollen titties joyfully responding to the pressure of his chest against hers. The sun was almost down.
"Kiss me," she said softly, all her fires banked. "Let me taste my dried cum. And yours."
They kissed gently. She ran her tongue around his teeth and gums. His breath was as sweet as a field of clover.
"Was this really your first time, Ronnie?" she asked. "The very first?"
He buried his head in the softness of her breasts, a little boy asking for understanding, where he had been the complete man a moment or two before. "Yes," he said. "I'm glad it was with you!"
She reached down to feel his soft, warm penis, thinking how strange it was that she could do this, and that she knew--or felt she knew--how to handle a prick. If she did.
"Was it good?" she asked. "As good as you thought it would be?"
He hugged himself closer to her. "Better," he said firmly. "A hundred times better!" He put one big, boyish hand between her thighs. "Mmmmm," he said, "That feels so good, so smooth." He got his hand higher, into her warm, flowing split, which was so highly sensitive that she jumped at the contact.
She kissed his cheek. "Why was it so much better? Why is it so much better than masturbating? Jerking off," she said with a self-conscious laugh.
"I don't know," the boy answered honestly, "but it is. Maybe because that's what we're supposed to do. Men and women, I mean. The whole idea is better. Something beautiful and soft and warm," and he touched her pussy again, "to put my cock in. Something slick and sweet."
"Like my mouth?" she teased, still amazed at her ease in this situation, with this boy.
"I can't believe it," he said in a low voice. "First I'm a nobody, a nothing, a dumb kid. Now I feel, I don't know, it's silly, isn't it, to think I'm grown up? Just from what we did?"
She gave his cock a warm squeeze and sat up. "You fucked me very grown up," she whispered, her eyes warm and tender. "You had a lot of courage. "
"Well," he said, "you asked me. I couldn't very well say no, could I? Oh, Miz Morris, this has sure been a wonderful day for me.
She stood up, and his face was almost touching the softly curled hair so fragrant with the warm and juicy cunt. He rubbed his face from side to side, smelling it, loving it, and then got up.
"It's getting late," Amy said. "I'd better go check on Terry. See when she's coming home.
Listen, we can't tell her about us, can we?"
"No," he answered. "Could you tell her?" He looked moody.
"I'll try to think of something for us both to tell her. Something that won't hurt her. Listen, how do you get home?"
He walked back fifteen or twenty feet along the thick hedge between the two properties. He ducked-into the bush and disappeared. A moment later, she heard his voice, seemingly at her elbow.
"Here I am," he said. "I can see you. You sure look good, too! Honest, Miz Morris, you're the greatest. Listen, my mom's driving in. I'll talk to you later."
CHAPTER FOUR
He kissed his mother when he went into the kitchen and found her there. In spite of the disrespectful reference he had made about the "uncles" who lived with his mother from time to time, he loved her. Lately, he had begun to understand why sex might rule a grown-up, even one's mother. In any case, he had to accept it.
He looked at his mother closely. She was pretty, smiling, well built. Bigger titties than Miz Morris, actually. A real good body, which he peeped at whenever he could. He had always felt somewhat shamed when he did this, just a bit guilty. Now, after what had happened next door, he thought he would never feel that particularly infantile guilt again. A woman was a human being. Each of them had a cunt. Presumably, if they were healthy mentally and physically, the cunt had yearnings.
He couldn't figure Miz Morris, though. If Terry could be believed, and he saw no reason why not, her mother never dated, never had a man in her home, never stayed out all night. In fact, Terry said, she could pretty well account for every hour in Amy's life.
"That's weird," he muttered to himself. "She sure as hell knew what to do. She was pretty tough with me, but she got right with it when we got talking about Terry." He had gone into his room and was grinning at himself in the mirror. "Whooee!" he said. "She sure fixed me up!"
He went and made sure his door was latched and came back and took his cock out. It was rosy and fat, still warm from the pleasant experiences he had enjoyed. There were a couple of red places on the head of it, and he studied these with genuine satisfaction. "Boy, she's tight," he whispered. "Like to wore the skin off my dick."
The thought made him feel so grown up that he strutted back and forth before the mirror. He could smell some food in the kitchen, and it reminded him that the fucking had made him very hungry. His mom worked downtown in a Foto-Mat store in a big shopping center. Across the street was a barbecue place, and the aromas told him his mom had brought home his favorite, barbecued spareribs.
He pulled on a pair of slacks and a knit shirt, stuck his feet in sandals, and went out into the warm, bright kitchen. He was touched with how tired his mother looked, and he went to her and kissed her again, holding her boldly against him, kissing her on the lips. He wished he had the guts to stick his tongue in her mouth, almost giggling as he thought how it would surprise her.
She looked at him with love and good humor. "You feel pretty good, don't you?" she said. "Listen, I'm sorry I got home so late. I had to stay an hour extra to help with inventory. The supervisor came by. So I got what you liked. Ribs." She had smelled the unmistakable odor of sex all around him, as though he had crawled through a giant cunt. Looking at him, remembering how he had grown these past two years, she felt an amazing tide of heat flow through her. I'm not that hard up, to rape my own son, she said in the quiet of her own mind. But the thought tickled her nonetheless.
He was at the stove, pouring her some coffee and getting milk for himself. He came back and leaned down, looking into the open part of her dress, and he realized that her breasts were really beautiful. He had accepted her alliances with other men, not really thinking too deeply about them. Not actually thinking of some guy's cock sliding into the warmth of her pussy. Now, with a little pang of loneliness, perhaps of jealousy, he did think of it, in those terms.
It made him angry for a moment, as though his property had been trifled with, and in a totally unexpected movement, he put his hand down into her dress, squeezing one of her breasts in a fiercely lover-like burst of feeling.
If he was surprised at himself, he was shocked at his mother's action. She was warm-natured and affectionate, always kissing him when she left or came home, giving him quick hugs and pats. But now she let out a sound halfway between a sob and a moan, held his hand fiercely against her breasts, and pulled him down so that his face was against the warm, smooth flesh that showed above her neckline. Her arm was around his hips, and he felt her breath rasping in his ear. It reminded him even more emphatically that she was female. But more than this, the entire sequence of events, the significant bodily contacts, reminded him that he was a man.
He had not necessarily thought that his cock and balls were exhausted, although he knew he had a great afternoon. But now he felt a surge of sexual warmth that alarmed him. This was, after all, his mother. He had always been interested in the points of sexuality on her body, as all boys are. But he was afraid, in spite of the feeling that persisted in his crotch.
To Cathy Davis, her son's action and her reaction were as much a joke as anything else. She was not one to wallow in the Freudian swamps of sexual theory. But even to her, who had always taken the pleasures of sex as her natural right, it did seem strange to find her own son squeezing her titties, and to find her clasping hand so near to his young cock.
It was her earthy good humor which saved them both. She let him go and spanked him lightly, affectionately, on his narrow, muscular young ass. "Don't pinch the avocados," she said, and kissed him on his flaming young cheek.
They went ahead and ate, mostly in silence, although Cathy kept wishing there was some way she could bring up the subject of sex in such a way that she could get some clue to where Ronnie had picked up that rich smell of cunt. Did kids his age actually go down on girls in their own age bracket? It had to be something like that. No cosmetic line had a scent like that.
The telephone rang and she got up to answer it. She came back from the hall and stood by her tall young son, holding his head to her, deliberately rubbing one of her breasts against him. He had recovered from whatever embarrassment had bound him, and he deliberately nuzzled into the soft warmth of the nice, big titty, making smacking noises with his lips.
"You're a bold one," his mother laughed. "I'll bet the girls chase you home every day."
"All sizes, all ages," he laughed, patting her on the rump. "But none as good-looking as you, mom."
She sat down and started on another rib. "That was Nell Thome," she said, licking her fingers. "She's having trouble with her old man again. Wants me to meet her over at Fire Pit and have a few drinks while she cries on my shoulder."
Her son looked at her with his clear eyes and shrugged. He knew it was true; Cathy didn't lie to him. She didn't tell him everything, and he didn't expect it. But she didn't lie. But he knew that his mother drank too much when she was with Nell, who was a real lush, and he hated it when his mom came home smashed and half out of her nut. Nevertheless, he grinned.
"Don't get into any barroom fights," he grinned. "And don't stay out too late."
Cathy began picking up dishes and putting them in the sink.
"Don't clean up," she said. "I'll be home early. I promise." She gave him a rather twisted grin over her shoulder. "I guess I'd be a candidate for Lousy Mother of the Year," she said. "Never home nights, never cook you a regular meal."
He got up and went to her and hugged her. "Shut up," he said affectionately. "You work like a dog to keep me, you feed me, you do everything for me. You're maybe the only mother I know of who never hollers at her teenager. So don't give me the bad mother baloney."
She clung to him for a moment, sniffling, then stepped back and wiped a tear from her eye. "Okay," she said. "I may not be a hell of a lot, but I'm sure lucky. To have such a son."
She left in a few minutes, and Ronnie immediately went out into the warm night, looking for a sign of life in the Morris home. There was a light in a front room, which he knew to be a bedroom, but when he pushed through the hedge and called: "Miz Morris! Hey, are you home? Is anybody home?" There was no answer.
At that moment, Amy Morris was in the drug store in Sonrisa Beach, the next small town up the coast. There was a woman pharmacist there, and Amy was listening to her and nodding.
"There are half a dozen brands, Amy," the woman was saying. "We get fewer kicks on this one than the others. And listen, you don't ever need a prescription if you come to me, hear?" For a moment, she looked away, then smiled and said: "If you want to, you can tell your daughter the same thing. To come to me."
Amy smiled and touched the other woman's hand. "Thanks Opal," she said. "Terry probably knows more about them than I do."
There was a Coke machine at the front of the store, and Amy, feeling an odd sort of thrill, put some coins in the machine, opened the bottle, and took one of the pills. She had just gotten over her period a couple of days before, and felt she was perfectly safe. Nevertheless, she knew there were still a million or two of Ronnie's spermatozoa that he hadn't sucked out of her. And besides, now that she seemed to be free of the shameful bonds of guilt, why not be free from the worry of pregnancy? "Of getting knocked up," she muttered to herself, pleased to be using such an offhand bit of slang.
The mere fact of taking the contraceptive made her feel warm and buoyant, as a woman should who has been fucked and sucked, and she drove home with a new sort of warmth in her pussy. Feeling the slick wetness of her vaginal secretions tickling out through her cuntlips, she said aloud: "If I'm going to be that kind of girl, maybe I'm going to have to start wearing panties." But she knew she would not; she loved the freedom of being unpantied too much.
She caught a glimpse of a figure moving in her dark yard and was startled. Then the headlights touched him and she saw, with unadulterated joy, that it was Ronnie. She called to him softly, set her hand brake, and stepped out of the car as he came up to her. There was no hesitation between them. They came together as naturally as water flowing, and she laughed as she rubbed her belly against his.
"I was just giving up and going home," he said. "I've been hanging around here a long time." He sighed and took her arm, sliding his hand up into the slightly sweated warmth of her armpit. "I thought maybe Terry was with you."
"She called right after you left. This is their night for cheering squad practice over at school. She said she'd eat with Sally." She looked at her watch. "She usually stays out until around nine-thirty. I can't see my watch. What time is it?"
"About seven, I think, Miz Morris," the boy said. Then he giggled. "But usually, I've always been with Terry. Practice is over, really, at eight-thirty."
Amy laughed, too. "Okay, Romeo," she said. "God, it's weird, me cheating with my daughter's boyfriend. Get in the car. In the back seat. If Terry comes, she won't see us, and I can go in through the back before she starts looking around." She gave him a lascivious rub all over his crotch as he got in the car ahead of her, and laughed as he jumped. "That thing sure feels good," she said.
They melted together in the back seat of the car, and Amy pulled her skirt up around her waist and spread her thighs. "So you can get to me easy, darling Ronnie," she whispered, a flooding of saliva making her words sound blurred. "Oh, baby, give me your cock!"
She pushed his hands away as he reached for his zipper. "I'll get it out," she whispered. "Oh, he's so beautiful! Let me suck him just a little!"
She went down on the warm, fat cock, which was not hard but getting there. To do this, she had to lean over in an uncomfortable position, so she got on hands and knees. "This is nice," she said, smiling up at him with her fingers around his penis.
"See if you can reach under me and play with my pussy."
He laughed. "I'll go over your butt and get into it. Then I can squeeze your titties with my other hand. Listen, though, I'm not too sure I can cum again."
"That's all right," Amy said. "I feel like I could cum ten times. Did you know that women could do that?" She continued to hold his prick, jacking the thick, soft skin up and down gently.
He had his hand covering the crack of her ass now, getting the feel of those thick lips, wet with her cunt-slobber, and he got two fingers into her, although her tightness was evident. "I heard about it," he said. "Or read it. Maybe Terry told me. She knows a lot about that kind of stuff."
Amy was panting, pumping her ass back and forth on his fingers. She felt excited, warm, itchy inside and out. His hand was on one of her breasts, and his pressures were killing her with pleasure.
"Rub a little deeper," she whispered raggedly, some of her spit drooling out onto his bared thigh. "You know where it feels best. There! OH GOD, BABY! THAT'S IT! OH, OH, OH, OH!"
Her body went rigid and then began to tremble as she fell against him. "Kiss me," she choked. "Please!" She managed to twist enough to get her mouth on his, their tongues slipping and sliding together, hard and warm, and then she let go and collapsed.
She had let go of everything, but now she began groping between his legs. "Where's that beautiful, hot peter?" she said in a childish voice. "Oh, here he is, the pretty tiling!"
She sucked Ronnie's cock for a minute or two, and then said with a pout, "He really doesn't want me, does he?"
"It's not that, Miz Morris," Ronnie said earnestly. "You're wonderful. It's just that--well--did you know that I had already shot my wad once before we started?"
She patted his shrinking young organ, wet from her mouth.
"I'm a selfish bitch," she said. "And listen, honey, it seems to me that if we know each other well enough for all of this, to fuck and suck, to say fuck and suck to each other, you shouldn't have to call me Miz Morris. Would it make you uncomfortable to call me Amy? Am I too old for that?"
He had fumbled one of her breasts out of the front of her dress, and now he leaned on her, sucking a whole mouthful of titty into his mouth. When he looked up, he said: "I think that would be just lovely, Amy. I call mom 'Cathy' sometimes. That's her name, you know," he added. He knew this was a stupid remark, but as he had sucked on Amy's breast, the thought of his mother had swept him. He remembered the size and warmth of her titties, the brown circles of shiny, rough-looking flesh that targeted the big, dark-brown nipples he had felt only minutes ago.
Amy leaned back. "Would you like to take those slacks clear off?" she asked. "Let me help you. There," as she slipped them down and off. "If I want to play with your pretty balls, it'll be easy to reach them. Did you know I sucked them this afternoon?"
He stroked her blonde head, feeling very big, very competent. A grown lady sucking his balls! Wow!
"I knew something awful nice was happening. I wasn't really sure what it was." His voice was humble.
Amy held his cock, her head on his shoulder. "How big you are for fifteen, Ronnie," she said. "Listen, would you believe me if I said I never did suck a man's balls? Or, if I did, it was back when I was too young to remember."
"Terry said you never had anything to do with men," the boy answered. "You didn't do it with your husband?"
"He was scared to death of sex, Ronnie. He couldn't help it. I think his mother did that to him. What does your mother tell you about sex?" She was startled at her question, wishing she hadn't asked it, but Ronnie wasn't disturbed.
"Nothing," he said. "Not that I remember, anyhow."
She held his penis warmly in one hand, getting the other down to draw his young balls away from their hiding place, and sighed.
"No lectures, no suspicions, no yelling?"
The big boy laughed. "Nothing," he said again. "I guess a mother maybe feels different about a boy."
She moved slightly and lay back, one thigh against the back of the seat, her knee up, while the other leg went wide, her foot on the car's floor. "Play with my old pussy and talk to me," she begged. "Just put your finger inside me, so I'll feel good. And tell me how you and Terry got started."
Without hesitation, Ronnie put his hand down to her cunt, started his middle finger into it, and spread the rest of his fingers under her ass. "You won't jump her about it?" he asked.
"Listen, Ronnie," Amy said, "I swear it. I'll never tell! I just want to know because a thing like that, well, it's got to be interesting." She wriggled her ass, enjoying the feel of his finger on the sensitive parts of her vaginal entrance, feeling it touch her inside, on the mouth of her womb.
"I was peeping through the hedge about, oh, maybe six months ago," he said without self-consciousness. "She was lying on her back on that chaise, completely naked. She had her knees pulled up and hanging open, and she was playing with herself." He licked his lips, and plunged his finger deeper into her fuckhole. It made her jump, moving her ass toward him.
"Like this?" she asked, pulling the foot on the floor up to the seat, then letting her knee swing out wide.
"Yes'm," the boy said. "Well, she was rubbing herself off, I guess you'd say. Like if it was me, I'd say I was beating my meat. Or jerking off. What is it called when a girl does it?"
Amy held his wrist with both hands, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy as she worked his hand very hard and firmly inside her twat. Suddenly she fucked against him very hard, three or four times, then relaxed with a deep sigh. "There," she said, "that was just a little one, but it was nice. I guess a girl would have to call it--golly, Ron, I don't know. Masturbating is the right word, but it sure sounds stupid. Too official to suit me. What do you call this, what you're doing to me?"
"Finger-fucking," he answered promptly. "Anyhow, that's what Terry was doing. And it made me realize that maybe she was scared of boys, just like I was scared of girls. So I just poked my head through and said: 'Look here. See what I've got.' I had my cock out, and it was really hard."
"And what did Terry say?" the girl's mother asked. She was excited at the entire idea.
Ronnie took his finger out of her twisting vagina, in spite of her groan of protest, and turned on his hip so that he faced her opened slit. He put his thumbs on either side of it, holding the thick, hairy outer lips apart, seeing the shine of cum juice on the inner surfaces. He sucked in his breath. His mouth was no longer dry. With a little sound of pleasure, he got on his knees on the floor and put his mouth directly over her cuntal aperture, sucking out a mouthful of the warm, clear juice. It made Amy buck with pleasure, forcing her entire split against his eager young face.
"OHHHHH!" she groaned. "Oh, Ronnie! That's so sweet! You darling, you've made me cum again!"
"Just another little one," he grinned, licking the sweetly rank cunt spillings from his lips. He got back where he had been, put his finger back into her and stirred its end around. "Terry was mad as hell, at first," he remembered. "Then she said: 'Well, I guess you've got me. What do you want, not to tell'?"
Amy was weaving her ass slightly, smiling in the dark. "That was your big chance," she said. "What did you say?"
"Well, I felt really bold. And I never had said any, you know, really bad words in front of a girl. So I said: 'I want to watch you, and I want to jerk off while you watch me.' It sort of struck her funny, I guess, because she began to laugh."
"You should have said you wanted to fuck her. You know what was the matter with her, don't you? Why she said that you had her?"
"Yes," Ronnie said. He had cooled off, remembering Terry, and he began to let his finger slide out of the warm, slick cunt. "She was deathly afraid I'd tell you. " Amy winced. "Did I hurt you?" the boy asked. "No," Amy said in a low voice. "Something else did. The way I've treated my daughter. Listen, Ronnie, I guess I've had enough. Let's get your slacks on, and you can go home."
An idea stayed with her, though. "So you two kids, both scared, found you could get some satisfaction doing everything except the real thing. You never sucked her? She never sucked you?" Ronnie, putting on his slacks, shook his head. "I had it in her mouth for a few seconds today," he muttered. "I was just beginning to blow my wad when you spoke up."
She remembered something he'd said. "That was the first time you came?" It was more a statement than a question.
He thought of how that sweet, saliva-choked mouth had felt as his cock had rammed into it. It made his prick throb. In the gloom of the car, he nodded his head. "We got together every day," he said. We had an hour, sometimes more, before you got home. It was the greatest thing that could have happened to me. To see a girl's pussy, to look at it, to smell it, to stick my finger in it."
Amy closed her eyes. She had a sudden picture of what might have happened to her daughter, to the tender, soft pussy, if it had been another kind of boy.
She took Ronnie's hand and brought it up to her lips. It was the one he had been finger-fucking her with, and it was wet with the slick, sweet fluids from up inside her cunt. She kissed his fingers, licking up her own pussy juice.
They heard a door slam, and came erect, Amy tugging her skirt down, and a bright light sliced across them from the window nearest to where they had parked. In it, they saw Terry, looking serious and determined, and Amy whispered: "What's she doing there? That's my room!" Neither tried to hide. Amy had stopped in her driveway, just even with the window. The car was only a few feet from the house, but Terry was deep in her own concerns. The pair in the car gazed in fascination.
There was a big dresser with a large mirror, just at the foot of the bed. There was an old-fashioned overhead lighting fixture shining brightly, and Terry turned on two lights on the dresser, one on each side of the mirror.
They were actually less than ten feet from the girl, so they could see clearly as she reached under her short skirt and thumbed down her panties.
Ronnie sucked in his breath as the young girl bent her legs and thrust her pelvis forward, trying to hold her cuntlips open. His eyesight was perfect, so he could see each slick, pink fold of her inner labia. He clutched Amy's hand, giggling. "What a hot little show," he whispered, and Amy answered: "Quiet!"
Her next move should have shocked them, for young Terry now sat on the end of the bed, rolled back, holding her knees back against her chest. In the mirror, she craned her neck and peered between her widespread thighs. Her young cunt, pink and glistening with her sexual fluids, seemed childish, compared to the mature charms of her mother, Ronnie thought.
He put his hand back between Amy's partly closed thighs. Her flesh was as smooth as her daughter's, the boy thought. Except right up near her pussy, right where her cunt hair spread and grew stragglingly down her thighs. It was coarser, there. He licked his lips. Amy's ass was bigger, too. Firmer? Maybe.
"What's she doing?" Amy asked. "Why, in my room?"
"She likes to look at herself," the boy answered. "She's looking for cunt hair. And she may be getting herself up to a little finger-fucking." He giggled. "She's used to cumming two or three times after we leave the practice."
Amy laughed softly and kissed him on the cheek. "Get out and go home," she whispered. "Shut the car door real easy--no, wait. I'll get out now, too." She patted his hand. "See you tomorrow," she whispered. "Come by the store if you can."
He felt funny, going around the back of Terry's house and through the hedge. It was hard to believe, the things that had happened. He had felt so manly. Just the fact of having, at long last, really fucked a woman. A grown woman, too! And had free access to her cunt, to play with, to look at, to suck. Hard to believe, all right.
And it was hard to believe that Miz Morris--Amy, he corrected himself--had never had any sex at all for ten years. But he had to believe her.
And even harder to believe that this was the only time she had ever really had any joy out of it, except, as she hazily remembered, maybe a long time ago. Guilt, she had said, kept her from having any pleasure. How strange! And sad, too.
Amy was feeling guilt now, feeling more guilt than she ever had before. Not because of the long afternoon of intense sexing, nor for her abandoned, wanton behavior tonight. Not for having, in effect, stolen her daughter's boyfriend. And certainly, not for breaking out of a lifetime of cruel bondage to her mother's savage and inhuman attitudes and teachings.
As she went softly into the house, through the kitchen, turning on a light and then shoving a chair around to warn her baby daughter, to spare the child embarrassment, she bore a heavy burden of sick remorse for another reason.
I have been as ruthless to my own child's humanities as my mother was to mine, she thought. I've made sex, which is so beautiful, seem like a sin. God, forgive me!
She gave little Terry plenty of time to adjust her clothing, turn off the light in her mother's room, and reach her own. Then, after wiping away some tears, she went in to her daughter.
CHAPTER FIVE
There were quite a few of the barbecued ribs left in the bag Cathy had brought home, and Ronnie, all his appetites keyed up, stood at the sink counter and munched on them, licking his fingers. He knew he was licking some of Amy's sweet pussy juice, and it added to the warm feeling that swelled his cock.
He had thought he would fall asleep at once when he went to bed, since he was apparently fucked out. But he had not counted on his mind, the male mind, which is never sated.
He thought of Terry's slender but womanly thighs. How wide her ass had looked with her knees drawn back! And her cunt. How beautifully, tenderly young it had seemed!
But Amy's was better. Wasn't it? Her belly was as smooth, as firm, as warm as Terry's. Its skin was milk-white, so all the tender tracery of blue veins had been visible. Goddamn! For a kid his age, he had suddenly done very well. The thought gave him a deep pleasure. I could fuck old Terry, if I wanted to, he suddenly realized.
Now that he was aroused, he thought he would never go to sleep, but he thought of his mother. If she and Nell Thorne really got into it, into drinking, she would be home late. And drunk. And if the two of them picked up a couple of guys, she might not show up until morning, just before time to go to work.
He must have gone to sleep immediately after that thought. He slept soundly. He must have because, when he woke about two o'clock with a bursting need to urinate, there was a light on in his mother's room. She was home, then, and no man with her, else she would not leave her door open.
After he got through in the bathroom, he went in to look at his mother. He always went in to cover her up.
But now, seeing her lying on the bed with her dress up almost to her crotch, he decided that a loving son really ought to get his mother undressed, into a nightgown, and into bed.
The idea made his heart race. But what the hell? If she waked up, he could always say he was trying to be helpful.
It wasn't so hard. She was a solidly built woman, but not heavy, perhaps the same size as the blonde neighbor whose cunt he had practically lived in since around four this afternoon.
When he got everything off her except her panties, and looked at her big, dark-nippled breasts with a hot feeling in his crotch, he got on the bed, on his hands and knees, and placed his elbows just about mid-thigh.
His mother may have been partly conscious. She mumbled something, patted his head, and obligingly rolled her rounded butt from side to side so he could get the panties off. With his nose almost in her crotch, he could not help seeing that there was a wet spot two or three inches long, an inch wide, along the opening of her pussy.
His heart was really pounding as he pulled the panties down and off, exposing his mother's genitalia completely. The dark hair was pressed down where the panties fit tightly, and wetly matted all up and down the line of her slit.
Had she been fucked? Or was this simply the cuntal exudation from a hot woman? He was not critical, not jealous, only warmly curious, as with a friend.
He looked closely at the inner side of the crotch of her panties, felt the wetness, sniffed it, and finally licked it with his tongue. He decided it was simply her own rich juices.
While he was performing this rite, he caught some movement in the region of her pussy. Incredibly, her thick, heavy outer lips, so deeply thatched with dark hair, were moving, opening. The bedside lamp she had left on when she had fallen on the bed gave a very good light. Good enough so that he saw a line of shining flesh, of a bright red.
At first, he thought that his mother's period was happening, and it gave him a hard, raunchy feeling in the pit of his belly, just above his pubic arch. He knew roughly what went on in such a case, and the thought of seeing those fat lips open, and dark internal blood flow from his mother's cunt hole, made his cock swell with an almost painful tingle.
As a matter of fact, his mother had been awake from the moment he had first touched her to get her undressed. Without giving away this fact, she had made it easy for him to get off her dress and bra, and when he had removed her panties, his hot breath on her cunt had truly aroused her.
She was what she would have called "practically a virgin" for she had not had a man for three or four days. There was no way she could have been induced to fuck her son, at least she told herself that. But if she were too drunk to know what was going on? If he did something to her, instead of her doing something to him, would that be so sinful? He was only a boy. Maybe he needed some help in the sex department. She could see him plainly, looking through her eyelashes. His face was taut, intent. Like a grown man's, poor baby! And I'm so hot, she thought. If he wants to look, it can't hurt anything, can it?
At the same time, she felt the heat of her blood swelling her inner lips, making them twice as large as usual, and she felt them pushing at the encasing outer lips, sealed with the dried juices from inside her pussy. As she was thinking this, the engorged inner lips made the fat and hairy outer lips pop open. It gave her a marvelous feeling. And then she felt Ronnie's hands under one of her knees. The little devil! He was trying to get her legs up so she would be wide open. What in the name of God did he want from her?
Without making it obvious, she let him pull her knees up, her heels against her naked asscheeks, and gravity made them fall apart. She could hear the hiss of his breath.
He saw now, somewhat to his disappointment, that the glistening scarlet line he had seen, just as the sealed lips popped open, was not the red of menstrual blood. Her inner lips were, quite simply, bright red where Terry's and Amy's had been coral. They were so shiny from her discharge of cunt fluids that they seemed even redder.
And the smell! It was twice as strong as the two blondes, mother and daughter. Rich and rank, making the spit form in his mouth so that he had to swallow repeatedly.
He had been wondering if he could locate her clitoris without trouble, and the little organ acted of itself to answer him. Just where the split started, just under the thick and puffy inverted vee of flesh, he saw a tiny nubbin peeping out. He was amazed and excited.
He had seen and felt Terry's and Amy's. He had sucked on the latter's. Neither could match his mother's for size. And it was twitching like a rabbit's nose. Drunk or not, she must be having some kind of wet dream.
He felt that this was a raunchy thing to do, but he could not help it. The sight of this fat, thick-lipped cunt--oh, yes, it was just that, a cunt, even if it was between his mother's thighs--was making him homy as hell, where he had been sexually anesthetized before. And the wetness of the clear flow coming from her tightly closed cunt hole, which seemed to be moving, as if it were chewing on something--beautiful! But it was none of these, nor the thick, gamey aroma that clogged his nostrils. No way!
His mother, drunk, unable to wake up and finger herself into the blessed relief of a cum, with her clitoris twitching and her hole dribbling out her inner cunt oils, needed his help.
At first, he thought he would need to use his thumbs to open her slit so that he could suck on her hard nubbin of nerve and gristle. But maybe mom would wake up. In any case, if she did wake up, he was lost, anyhow. Convicted. And this other way, just burrowing in after it, rooting those thick, sweet lips apart, feeling the wet hairs on his lips, getting the slick juice all over his face, that would be more fun anyhow.
He edged closer, trembling with fear and desire, and knelt so that his mouth was within an inch of her cunt. With a moan, he let himself down, inhaling the dark, gut-twisting fragrance of his mother's trembling cunt and gently sucked the hard clitoris between his lips.
She had been expecting it and was steeling herself to withstand the hard, high joy of having her ready-to-burst clit sucked, but she had overestimated her tolerance to the furious waves of sensation that burned throughout her cuntal system, from the quivering flesh of her pubis to the humid and nervous crack of her ass. And most of the fire of blood beating in her nerve ends was, of course, in the bursting clit, the vulva getting their joy from the hot, slick pressure of Ronnie's lips, and the highly sensitive surface of her vaginal opening.
She could no more help heaving her smoothly muscled butt up in an arc of joy than she could have stopped a sneeze that had started. There was too much pleasure-pain bursting in all her happy-spots. All she could was to smother her screams of passion to a series of long moans: "Mmmmmm! Unnnnhhhh!"
The boy was, for all his mother's twisting and groaning, undismayed. He knew that his wet dreams were painfully beautiful, that they gave him a deeper, purer, longer lasting pleasure than anything he had ever induced by hand. Even today's miraculous entry into a living, blood-heated, juice-slicked cunt, and into a loving, drooling, sucking mouth felt better than a wet dream's strange joys. And in dreams, the fiery joy lasted longer.
He did not know what he did before his young cock began to spurt his overload of semen, but he was certain that he writhed and tossed and, undoubtedly, groaned out his delight.
Therefore, when his mother used her braced feet and her powerful thighs to lift her ass in trembling force, and emitted the muted groans of joy that comes with orgasm, he was only pleased.
I'm making mom cum, he thought happily. I'm giving her something she really needs! It was a moment of genuine triumph for him, the quintessence of a loving son's joy in giving such pleasures to someone he loved. The fact that his own young cock had become a hard, throbbing mass of quivering cum-nerves was a sort of bonus, a gift for having been a good boy to his mom.
He cautiously drew his face back to look at his mother's open genitalia more closely. The inner lips were now exposed more than ever, completely and tightly filled with Cathy's high rate of heartbeat, filled and hard with the rush of her blood. They were slicker, too, and red with the cross-hatched tracery of surface veins. The cluthing hole at the bottom of this tract of blushing membrane was pulsing like a heartbeat, and each pulsation brought a tiny, clear wave of warm cunt juice. The boy was fascinated.
He looked closely at the thick covering lips, so generously covered with dark, coarse, curly hair. It was really wild to see that this area of coarser skin was dark, the outer parts pigmented noticeably, while the inner surfaces, which he could see by timidly pulling back one haired lip, were pink and shining with cuntal moisture. The skin just at the hairline was fine and white and smooth. There were a number of hairs which seemed to abandon the rest of the heavy mat. They straggled away, down the inner part of mom's smooth white thighs.
He had to be careful not to rub his cockhead against the fabric of his pajama pants, his only garment. This had all been too hot for his innocent experience. He became aware that his legs, on which he had been knee-braced for so long, were trembling with fatigue. Without thinking it might awaken his mother, he let his head go down, turning it so that his cheek rested partly on the open slickness of her cunt, partly in the thick nest of crisply curled hair.
Cathy had been lying in warm, roseate bliss, by no means satisfied. There was still a comfortable, hot, itchy upheaval going on in her vagina. She felt that all of her sexual system, even her silent, deep-buried ovaries, her dark, hard, slick cervix, were transmuted into a warming blaze of loving pleasure. Even the crack between her firm, smooth asscheeks, now being tickled by the little flow of pussy juice, was part of this warm and beautifully sensual experience. Her clitoris had disappeared for the moment as it always did after a thundering orgasm, hiding in its soft cloak of moist membrane. However, it still throbbed from the rolling surge of cumming which had centered in its hypersensitive nerves.
Therefore, when Ronnie unexpectedly pressed his face into the wet, still throbbing petals of flesh between her thick, hairy outer cuntlips, she involuntarily moved her body up and down, fucking against her son's young face. It was such a warm, inviting movement, making him so happy, that he forgot the weakness in his thighs. He turned his face, rejoicing in the slickness of the open pussy, and began to suck. This time, because he loved the taste of it so, he sucked against the bubbly pink hole, getting one slick mouthful after another.
He knew that when he had a wet dream, he awakened in a cold and sticky mess, which he felt obliged to sponge up. Ladies were different. No matter how many times they came, it was just a small, unobtrusive trickle of clear juice. Sure, the sheet right under his mother's split bottom was damp. But he was sucking up most of the flow now. And Mom was soaring into another hard cum. Dam good thing she was drunk, else she might awake and catch him.
This time, he dared put his aims around her strong thighs, loving the vital warmth and smoothness of her flesh under his young hands, himself half drunk with the heady aroma which rose thickly from those dark cuntlips. His nose was buried between those lips, and the wet cunt hairs caressed his boyish cheeks. It was marvelous that he could do this for his mom, and have her remain unconscious of it. Not that he was ever that happy that she came home drunk. But she was his mom. Her life wasn't easy.
Cathy's life was raging in at this moment. She knew that she could let herself go and fuck her boy's face without him being wised up that she was awake. Bless his baby heart, she thought. He thinks I'm passed out. Oh, God, I wish I dared to wake up and take his cock and put it in me! Or better yet, to suck his warm, beautiful jism right out of his sweet little balls!
She almost fainted with love and desire at the thought. It helped her to cum harder and longer, to prolong her orgasm by squeezing her cunt muscles around his tongue, by fiercely rubbing her clit and the open tent of flesh surrounding it, on his nose and forehead. Poor baby, he must need to cum so bad!
As long as he kept sucking, she kept up a gradually decreasing quake of orgasm, until her cuntal nerves were shrieking with the pain of overuse. Regretfully, she pulled away from him, turning on her side, seeing between her partly closed lids that he rolled away very carefully.
Then she saw his cock, and she nearly swallowed her tongue. It could not possibly be as big as it looked at first glance. He was only a boy. Just over fifteen. But it was large, and heat had swollen it to its largest. In an unconscious movement of invitation, she pulled her left thigh up, knowing that this would make her drooling, hairy cunt protrude like a caricature of pouting lips, begging for a kiss. Or a cock.
She heard her little boy--not so little, really, almost six feet--suck in his breath. She made her ass move just a little. She did not want him to go away and jerk off. No, by God! Not if she had to pretend to awake in drunken delirium and suck his beautiful young peter.
But she felt him kneeing softly toward her, and his hand resting on the outer skin of her thigh. There was something warm and smooth touching her cunt. There was a feeling of delicious stretch, of fullness in her overheated vagina. She thought for a moment that she could not keep from screaming. It was so incredible that he could have dared to do what she so deeply wanted. And what society would so violently condemn. Her only sadness was that she could not spread her thighs to take him in all the drooling, muscle-crawling way, letting his sweet peter bang against her uterus. But she could move, and she did.
In the throbbing, painfully hungering head of Ronnie's cock, the treasure of warmly oozing cunt flesh wrought a blissful restfulness. His nerves had been honed to a crazy need. But it was dry, hurtful. Now the nerve-taut fullness of it rested in the sweetest grasp a cock can ever know. He knew it was terribly, terribly, criminally wrong. If you looked at it a certain way. As a son fucking his mother for his own animal pleasures.
But this was so different! His mom had been painfully hot from a dream of lust. He had seen a chance to help her. And maybe it was bad for a lady just to cum and cum sort of from the outside. So he told himself as he bored his cock into her lubriciously hot, slick tightness. He hoped that this, too, would reach into her drugged stupor and give her pleasure. She was out of it, all right. Really out of it. If she was so deeply sunk in alcoholic sleep, why not feel her big, warm titties? They were lolling softly between her arms. Their nipples were twice as big and hard as they had been earlier.
Without stopping his gentle fucking into and out of his mother's warm, tight pussy, he leaned over her smooth thigh and got a hand under one of the swollen breasts. Gee, they were heavy! No wonder some women wore bras. It would be sort of tough, having two big melons of flesh like this pulling at you all day.
By leaning down and by lifting and stretching the lovely titty, he got the nipple into his mouth. The nipple was hard, its flesh creased and grainy. It was wonderful to suck it.
He felt something happen inside his mother. A pressure on his cock. Better than Miz Morris--or Amy--had done. And his prick was so crazy hard, so painfully charged with the jism his young balls had built up while he slept.
He felt the throb, the warm, itchy feel of painfully joyful release that happens in a guy's cockhead just as the jism starts boiling up. He was panicky for a moment, letting this flood of cum juice shoot into his mother's twat.
But he was too far gone to help it. Maybe there wouldn't be all that much, seeing he'd already cum three times, not long ago. Or maybe it would just stay up inside of mom, in the dark mysteries of her cunt, like her own juice did.
One thing for sure, she was trying--her cunt was trying--to suck it all out of him. And her body was moving again, just like before, and she was letting out those strange, happy moans. Like a wet dream, it must be feeling awful good to mom.
It was feeling so good to his mom that she could have cried. Her mouth was flowing saliva from every gland, and she was swallowing with her mouth just as compulsively as she was swallowing his seed with her cunt. Deep in her mind she knew it was best that she could not heighten her pleasure by kissing Ronnie, by sucking his dear tongue down her throat, by screaming the loving obscenities which always seemed to make the fucking better. He was only a kid. But what a kid! He sucked me and fucked me like a man, her mind warmly registered. How sweet! How beautiful! If I could only hold his sweet peter in my mouth, taste that richness as it shoots down my throat!
Instead, her cunt enjoyed with the most intense joy the hot slickness that shot out of the boy's throbbing dick in flooding spurts. He felt the jets die down, and so did the mothercunt he was stretching and pleasing.
When all movement had stopped, he backed away carefully. Some of his thick cream was on his cock, and he put his hand around it, so none would drip on mom's sheets.
There were two or three thick gobbets of his cum in the thick, dark hair at the pulsing edge of her cuntlips. He bent and craned his neck to lick these off, and Cathy almost came again, he was so sweet and manly about it. So considerate.
He backed slowly off the bed, and she heard his feet on the thick shag carpet as he sped back to his own bed.
She rolled on her back, opened her legs again, and held a hand mirror down between them. Her cunt was swollen and red with fuck fever. Her movements had made some of Ronnie's jism leak out. She put her hand down into the warmth and slickness, picking up as much of the wholesome protein as she could get, gratefully sucking it off her fingers, rolling it in her mouth.
She was almost fully sober and it made her grin. "If I'd gone to bed with some crum I picked up, I'd still be drunk," she whispered to herself.
She lay awake for a while, occasionally rubbing her belly in appreciation, or trying to pick up another few drops of Ronnie's cum.
She did not hear his light click off, and after some time she went to look. His student lamp was on. He had apparently dropped off to sleep without trouble. He was on his back, one thigh lying almost at right angles to his body.
His cock, which had been so big and hard, was now small and pink. As she bent over him, she could see drying juices, his and hers, on the tender morsel. Her mouth ached to suck it, but she had too much sense. I was awake and had to fake it, she thought. He'd wake up, sure as hell.
She pulled a down comforter over him, and allowed herself at least the pleasure of stroking the soft, sweet little peter. He smiled in his sleep and she went back to bed, happy.
She felt no guilt. "After all, I was drunk," she whispered.
She, too, was smiling as she fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
In the world of physics, one of the oldest stated laws is that for every action there is a reaction. It is equally true in the domain of the mind and the emotions, although not so calculable. For Amy Morris, her reaction to the fuck-action which changed her entire life was highly complicated.
She was dizzy, almost out of her head with the intoxication of freedom, the hotly, deeply pleasuring rewards of sex suddenly and unexpectedly experienced to the fullest. The warm feelings of completion, of fulfillment in her body were, to her, absolutely incredible. And indescribably beautiful.
For the first time in her life she was not ashamed of being a woman, of having breasts, a cunt, interior goodies that made her a female. In a matter of a few hours, she had, by herself, or at least with the aid of fantastic circumstances and a boy with a sex drive that made him fearless, gone through cycles of education and acceptance which many women never realize. The fact that she had been almost a non-woman for about twenty-four years, which expectably would have blocked such development forever, had only seemed to make the transition more complete, once the dam had broken.
She had gotten home a little earlier than usual. A few minutes later, she now realized, and the tall boy next door would have blown his load of jism all over her grape arbor and gone home.
It had all been so much a matter of pure chance that she shivered in retrospective fear. Her strange inward upheaval, the boy's courage and his cock, her own deep and mystical conviction that she could save her own daughter by entering into a far-out sexual alliance with a teenage boy--all of these had set her free.
Free! Free in mind, in body, in conscience! It had immediately placed her in a better, brighter world, a world of plain and loving talk, of straightforward and loving actions. No fear or disgust at taking a man's penis into her mouth. On the contrary, a warmly flooding knowledge that this was clean, good, natural. And what a transfer of delightful warmth from her loving and cock-filled mouth to her suddenly hot-flowing, nerve-joyed cunt! All of it, a new, beautiful life completely achieved, an old, bitter, hateful life completely abandoned, in less than six hours, the fourth part of one eventful day.
She entered her back door after Ronnie had faded into the hole in the hedge, and she could hardly wait to enfold her daughter in her arms, to hold her, somehow to comfort her, to make up for all the brutal, unnatural things she had poured into Terry's impressionable young mind the past few years.
How long? Possibly from the time Ralph had left, when her own frustration and hatefulness had brought back all the vicious, corrosive hate and fear that her own mother had poured on her.
She remembered mama. Brother, did she!
In a haze of shame, she suddenly recalled that she had been almost exactly Terry's age when the poison first entered her life. And it was like a delayed action, when the sweetest experience of her life had brought her life crashing into painful chaos.
It had been so bitter, so tragic, turned by her hateful mother into such a vicious crime, that Amy's mind had hidden it, buried it so deeply that it had not surfaced in her memory for years. Until today. And it was only coming back in flashes.
When she had seen Terry, dress around her waist, her young thighs spread to let Ronnie's finger slip into her girlish twat, when she had burst on them like an avenging angel using vitriol for a flaming sword, she had remembered part of it.
When she had suddenly felt that hot wave of release after her quick decision that protecting her daughter made it a morally justifiable matter to throw herself into sex with Ronnie, more of the faded, terrible old picture had come back.
And only a few moments ago, when she had seen her daughter, lying on her back with her slim but mature legs up, studying her pinkly dripping young cunt for signs of womanhood, all the pieces of the ancient puzzle dropped into place. Clear, bright, detailed.
Uncle Carl! Not her mother's brother. Carl Simms, her dad's sibling. Discharged from the army after being wounded in North Korea, recovered from his wound in a Los Angeles Government hospital, and visiting her handsome, gentle father before he went home.
As she thought of that far-away time, her loins glowed again with the warmth of remembered love. She had been so young! But no younger than Terry, right now. And just as anxious to grow up, just as curious about sex, just as warm and ready for life.
And Carl, her father's younger brother, just recovering all of his health, just beginning to know the flush of blood running hotly through his veins.
Amy flushed hotly, just thinking about it. It had been so swift, so sweet.
Right in this very house it had happened. Remembering, she shed hard tears, murmuring: "Carl, my dear! Why did it have to end as it did? Why couldn't you come back to me?"
It had been an amazing, unbelievable experience, but so warm and human! She had come in quietly, her young body sweet with girl-sweat after walking from the bus. The house was quiet. No one home? Apparently not. She undressed in her room and, naked and beautiful, had walked down the hall. And there in the guest room had been Uncle Carl, also naked. Playing with his big, hard cock in front of the mirror. Jerking off. A man over thirty in boyish play.
She remembered how she had almost choked on the quick heat of lust, seeing what she had dreamed of, had wanted with the deep needs of a hot-cunted virgin. She had stumbled back toward her bedroom with her uncle, startled into action, just behind her. To find her on her bed, her sweet body afire with fuck-need, cunt wide open.
It has been so wonderful. She had secretly loved him since the first day he had come to live with them. When she had played with her own hot little pussy, tenderly arousing her slick lips and quivering clit until she brought herself to a screaming cum, it was always the quiet, dark young man she envisioned in her love dreams.
Now that she was recalling it all, how he had plunged his hard into her aching tightness, how she had wrapped her sweet young legs around him, she realized that Carl had been as inexperienced as she. "Babes in the wood," she whispered, in sweet but painful memory. No sucking, no kissing her on her juicy little puss. Not for a long time. But even so, it had been wonderful. A girl's first fuck, a girl's first orgasm. The glory of fulfillment. Unforgettable. And yet she had allowed it to be buried under years of her mother's abuse.
It had been inevitable that they would find each other, the quiet man, recovering his manhood, and the nubile, pulsing young girl just feeling her way into the tender insanity of sex. Left alone in a comfortable house where, although neither was aware of it, someone of the opposite sex was hungering for a fuck.
Wonderful times. Every afternoon when Amy came home and mom was at work, she and Carl undressed each other, kissing some new place, some newly discovered point of love. That was the forgotten glory that Amy had dimly remembered this afternoon as she let her mature cunt expand and glow and flow with a wild love as it closed on Ronnie's hard, sweet young peter, or when her drooling mouth sucked its smooth, shiny head, bloated with lust.
Buried feelings! Buried under the hateful debris of her mother's rage. For if it was inevitable that she and Carl would fuck, it was equally inevitable that they would be caught.
And it just had to happen when the older man and the young girl--"my baby!" her mother, not really all that maternal--had screamed over and over-were venturing into new, brightly inviting, and not yet acceptable fields of lust and love.
Carl, for all his greater age, was a shy young man, with limited sexual experience. But he had loved to look at the lush, hotly pink inner workings of his niece's cunt. Swollen by desire, shiny-wet with the fluids from a healthy, maturing vagina and labia, he looked and touched. And was, of course, engulfed by the thick, lovely aromas that come from a hot pussy. So, okay, he had dived into her soft, warmly musky young cuntlips, and was busily eating her pussy, to her joy as well as his.
And that was the precise moment when Amy's mother, home from work unexpectedly, walked in on them.
It was loud, bitter tragedy, played to the hilt by the old-fashioned, poisonously prudish mother. Thunder and lightning and hysterical shrieks--none of Shakespeare's heaviest plays had anything to top it.
Carl, poor guy, had left the house at once. That very moment, or just as soon as he got dressed. With his clothes thrown after him. And her father, after a few months of the most vengeful brow-beating, had left, never to return or communicate.
Her mom had beaten her physically, reviled her as a whore, and punished even more harshly with a constant stream of epithets, an unending surveillance, increasingly bitter diatribes against sex, the brutal nature of men, the sick weakness of females.
"Jesus," Amy murmured to herself, tears in her eyes at the bitterness of old memory, "no wonder I was screwed up all my life. Poor Ralph! Maybe he'd have been different if I hadn't been such a sex-scared, cuntless bride."
This had been a day of massive changes, of massive emotional shifts. Possibly, even more massive physical adjustments, as organs never used in years had warmed and revived and fluttered into a hot and streaming life. Unconsciously, Amy rubbed at her pussy, getting a bright echo of good feeling in that tender spot, sensitized by all of the fucking, all of the play with Ronnie.
And Amy Morris, newly-crowned Human Being for the Day, almost broke into bits with the obverse side of her bright coin of newfound lust. For, along with her discovery of herself, she also had to realize a punishing, corrosive fact--she had done to Terry exactly what her mother had done to her.
"No wonder I'm crying," she said aloud. "Oh, God, help me to make it up to her! In love, in understanding, in permissiveness!"
A part of her own sexual renewal--most of it, really--had been due to the mystic revelation that giving her cunt and soul to Ronnie would "protect" her little daughter.
"What bullshit!" Amy exclaimed. "Maybe--maybe--who knows what drove me? It could have been the memory of Carl's cock, buried so deep down, that tricked me--made me trick myself--and trick Ronnie--into a wild flight into what I'd lost." Oh, cunt and cock and the sweet anguish of love and first fucking! For now, Amy could let herself remember it all. The bright, welcome pain as Carl's big prick had split her maidenhead. The blood and semen that made such a gorgeous film on his cock, that dribbled so sweetly out of the bruised lips of her virgin pussy! How well worth the pain!
"I was ready to suck his peter that first day!" Amy said in warm recall. "But what do I do, now, for my baby daughter?"
The artless stupidity of the adjective gave her mouth a wry twist. "My mature, ready-for-fucking daughter," she amended.
She went down the hall past the guest room where she and Carl had known the warm joys of each other's bodies, so long ago. She saw that her own bedroom door was open, though the light was out. And then her eyes went to Terry's bedroom, opposite her own, where yellow light drew a narrow line against the dark.
She rapped on the door, and rapped again. No answer.
"Terry," she called, and her voice was charged with all the love and remorse in her good heart, "please answer me, dear. Please let me talk to you. Let me explain."
The girl's voice came at last, bleak and uncompromising.
"I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone, mother."
"I want to tell you I know I was wrong, all these years. Wrong in what I told you about sex. Wrong in my feelings. Honest, Terry. Please let me in." She would not embarrass herself or shame her daughter by trying the door, entering uninvited.
The line of light went out, leaving Amy in the dark hall. Her daughter's voice was cool. "Okay, so you were wrong. That's not exactly news, mother. I knew you were wrong. " Amy leaned against the door, her heart aching. "Please, I know more of what you feel than you'd believe. Listen. Terry. I, uh, I fucked a guy. When I was your age. And got in trouble with my mother."
She heard a chill and scornful laugh, a bitter sound. "Big deal! Go fuck another. Listen, go fuck my ex-friend next door! He's always horny. Yeah, go fuck Ronnie."
It was a stunning, complex, painful blow. Amy's heart was like lead. Her mind hurt. Terry couldn't possibly have guessed that she and Terry--no, no! She could never have known it and remained so composed. She could not have known of the beautiful, terrible fuck-scene in the arbor. Nor a few moments ago, in the car. It was simply a random slash of a whip, aimed in the dark, to punish Amy. As I punished her so often, the mother thought.
She went sadly into her bedroom, undressed, and went into her bathroom, where she took a tranquilizer. Thinking of everything that had happened, a mild flush of anger began to glow in her, anger aimed at Terry.
"I wish my mother had ever been half as decent to me," she muttered. She breathed deeply, trying to counteract a heart racing from emotion, from a flow of adrenalin.
She doesn't have to be so mean," she muttered, angry at herself for having been so abject. "I was going to give Ronnie back to her!"
She could not help but laugh at this last inane remark, which no one but herself could hear. The healing sanity of being able to laugh at herself gave her a feeling of peace.
"Anyhow," she asked her improved image in the mirror, "how could I give him back without confessing that I'd had him?"
Nevertheless, she took another tranquilizer.
She needed it if she was to sleep.
But she felt better than she had in many years. Maybe in all her life. Her breasts were bigger, heavier, more sensitive. Her pussy actually felt swollen, and it may have been. Inner labia, excited by fingering, by having been used thoroughly, even by erotic thoughts, fill warmly with bright, hot blood. And the inner surfaces of those fat, soft, hairy outer lips, their mucous membranes so sweetly alert to the inner itch of a healthy, happy cunt, give their surroundings the slippery, blood-heated sense of expansion. It was a nice way to go to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Usually, Amy Morris' awoke before her alarm clock, set for six-thirty, could assault her senses with its brazen whir. Not so today.
Whatever it was, her being flung into the warmth and adventurous fulfillment of sex or the two tranquilizing pills, she had to be buzzed awake, had to fight the covers to find the nasty little counter of life's hourly segments, and feel blindly to find the button that turned it off.
Getting up at this hour gave her time for all a mother has to do on a school day and a work day, shower, get breakfast, wake up her daughter, dress for work, do the breakfast dishes.
She took a little longer with her shower this morning. Somehow, there was more enjoyment in it. She felt that her breasts had kept some of that increase in size that they had generated after her various explosions of sex with Ronnie. Even the nipples were bigger. Certainly, they had more of that good, tingly feeling in them. In her innocence or indifference, having abandoned any idea of sex for herself, she had never thought there was any real truth in the notion that her boobs were points of sensuality. Now, with the warm spray making them bounce and tremble with feeling, she knew she had been wrong.
Timidly, as if she were doing something her mother had forbidden, she pulled and pressed one nipple with a thumb and forefinger. She would never have believed what happened. Not only did the nipple and breast give her a quick return in that hard, sexy feeling she had known yesterday, there was also a warm, thin line of heat that trembled its way down her smooth belly, giving her a sweetly goosey feeling between the lips of her twat.
They, too, had seemed more swollen than they ever did, except possibly when she had the curse. Somehow, during the night, she had distilled enough clear, sweet pussy juice so that it had partly solidified, making a gluey seal on the fat cuntlips. When she had bent both knees and squatted to root her slippers out from under her bed, that seal had broken with a very faint little sound, and the forced separation of the two warm mounds of hair-covered tissue had sliced a tiny electric thrill through their still tender, still sensitive borders.
That feeling remained, was fortified, not only by the warm water trickling down through her pubic hair, but by the quick shot of warm life angling down from her titty and nipple.
Entranced by all this delicate but positive sensuality, she fingered the other nipple, getting an instant replay of the delightful tracing of sexual warmth from breast to cunt. Amazing!
Giddy with pleased surprise at what seemed to have happened in her body--nothing less than a complete resurrection of feelings she had forgotten and thought lost forever--she now used both hands to cop the full weight of her breasts, pressing their smooth weight against her ribcage, but still using thumbs and index fingers to tease and milk at the quickly hardening nipples. It was so marvelous, so unbelievably arousing, that she had to lean against the shower wall, closing her eyes against the rich, deep delight of a near-orgasm that swept through her pussy.
"Blessed Jesus!" she exclaimed softly. "I believe I could cum just by squeezing my own titties!"
She felt the tightening of muscles in her belly, knowing they were not surface muscles, but forgotten ones in the slimy dark around her womb. Proud of her heat, she gave her breasts another hard, long pressure, pulling out on them at the end, holding the pleasured nipples and stretching them out, while the little wires of sexual heat ran down, under her sheeting of skin and muscle, like summer lightning.
She was seeing Ronnie in her mind, seeing his cock as it had been yesterday afternoon, so hard and alive. The feeling of teasing, tickling warmth in the entry to her cunt remained and grew. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she spread her thighs and eased two fingers up herself, into the moving, nipping slickness just inside the entry to her vagina. It felt so good!
She moved the dripping fingers in and out, twisting them a little, spreading them to put more pressure on the delicious tenderness of her cunt. She knew it could not last long but she was enjoying it so much she wanted to make it last longer. And then, when she could no longer stand that feeling, she held the upper part of her split open with her unengaged hand, and pressed the other thumb gently down on her hard, eager clitoris.
She had known it would be beautiful, even if she had never done such a thing in so many years. What she did not know was that it would affect her so deeply. She had been anchored, so to speak, in each of the three times yesterday and last night. Now, alone and on her feet, balanced only by precariously leaning on the water-slicked wall, the blow of orgasm twisted her body so violently that she would have fallen except for the small size of the space she was in.
Feeling burned in her. It felt as if her cunt were on fire. As if she were literally spilling her guts out through her spasming vagina. As if each heartbeat were swelling her uterus. And nature would not let her off the hook. Blindly, sliding down the walls until she was awkwardly sprawled on the floor, she kept her fingers in her chewing, sliding, finger-sucking cunt, her face twisted in a grin of lust.
She thought she heard a step outside the shower, but was not sure. She grinned ruefully as she got back up on her shaky legs, still feeling as if she would cum if she so much as moved her thighs against one another.
"Wow!" she whispered appreciatively. "You've come a long way, baby!" She laughed aloud in pure delight in living. "In fact, baby," she said aloud, "You've cum a real long way!"
After she had toweled herself thoroughly, making sounds of deep satisfaction as the warm, dry towel touched the wet hair and springy flesh of her cunt, she went out to the kitchen in bra, pantyhose, slippers, and robe.
She found Terry, putting a frying pan on the stove and getting butter and eggs out. She looked at the girl but said nothing, wondering if the unreasoning anger still burned in her young daughter. Their quarrels had never been serious, so Amy was not surprised when Terry came to her suddenly, gave her a quick, hard hug, and said: "I'm sorry, mom. About last night. What I said." It didn't really settle anything. For instance, it didn't settle, in Amy's mind, whether she simply ignored what Terry did after school, or tried to talk the girl into being careful, at least. What did you do with a daughter who, caught in the very act of deeply flagrant sex play, made you back off by threatening to run away from home? A twelve-year-old daughter, at that? And it was complicated by the fact that she, Amy, had fallen into the same sort of trap, the trap that Nature sets for women. A grown woman, stealing her daughter's lover, age fifteen.
Amy shook her head. This was no time to grasp that nettle.
She dressed, wondering, now, if Terry might not run next door for Ronnie's embrace the minute Amy set off for work. She was due at the store at eight, which meant leaving by seven-fifty. And Terry, whose school bus stopped a block away at eight-thirty, would have a half-hour for. anything she chose. Amy shook her head a good many times in the next fifteen minutes, washing the dishes, thinking, thinking.
She knew that Cathy Davis left somewhat later for her job. She had never really gotten to know the woman next door. All she knew was what she had heard, mostly unkind gossip. She raised her head as Terry came into the kitchen and paused.
"Mom," the girl said, "listen. Is it all right if I ride over to Sonrisa Beach with you? Sally and another girl in the cheer leaders want to meet before our first class."
A flood of relief swept over Amy. Somehow, the loosening of tension made her again feel hot and juicy, gave her that same richly female feeling between her legs. "Wonderful," she beamed. "Glad for your company."
And she felt another tug of feeling when Terry said: "Laura Spain wants to borrow my last semester's history notes. You'll be here another few minutes while I dash down to Laura's won't you?"
As soon as the screen slammed behind Terry, Amy went to the phone. She had seen a number many times, penciled on the phone book's cover in Terry's round scrawl: "Ronnie Davis, 755-8908." She dialed with precise speed, ready to say "wrong number" if Cathy Davis answered. When she heard Ron's voice, she was so flushed with warmth that she had to swallow a couple of times before she could talk.
"Hello, Ronnie," she said, repressing a need to giggle. "You know who this is, don't you?" Stupid, stupid!
But he laughed as though he were very pleased, and said: "Hi, Amy! I was thinking about you." She did not ask any more stupid questions but came at once to a matter suddenly of much interest to her.
"Is your noon lunch period at twelve or twelve-forty-five?" she asked. "I surely would like to see you today."
The big boy laughed. "No sweat. I get two periods today. No music on Fridays. I can be out from twelve to one-thirty. What do you want me to do?"
Amy felt more confident, now. And as young as her daughter.
"You know the northwest comer of the store parking lot? Where there's that big clump of twisted junipers? I always park there. It's private. Want to meet me there, around twelve-ten?"
Ronnie's voice was deep. God, what a man he was, for a kid only fifteen! Incredible! She hung on his words: "Sure, I'll be there," he said. "As close to twelve-ten as I can make it."
"Great!" Amy said, trying not to sound too jubilant. "And don't worry about lunch. I'll have stuff from the store."
It was a long morning. Amy dropped Terry off by the drug store, where two or three other girls from Brandeis Junior High School waited. She heaved a sign of relief when she saw her regular parking spot was open. Better yet, Barney Knowles, her boss, had parked his big camper next to it. And Barney always ate with the Main Office supervisor on Fridays. And they always went in the supervisor's car to a spot on the beach. Real privacy for her and Ronnie! She almost danced her way into the store.
During a quiet period around eleven-thirty, Amy picked up food. A package of boiled ham, a piece of nut-sweet Swiss Cheese, a small bag of fresh rolls. At the meat counter, she picked up a small barbecued chicken, and went back to the last aisle before the vegetable department to add a bottle of pickles, a squeeze-jar of mustard, and two big Elberta peaches to her basket.
When twelve o'clock came, she went upstairs and punched the clock and went into the ladies room to wash her hands and look herself over.
Remembering how Ronnie had put his face between her thighs, how he had talked about the size of them, of the lush proportions of her body, she turned sideways, looking at what the rather tight uniform did for her.
"Me and my big, fat old ass," she murmured, patting the rounded, well formed rump she had secretly worried about. If Ronnie liked it, what the hell?
She walked out and got in the car only after casually but carefully checking the lot to make sure no one from the store was in sight.
She pushed the front seat forward and eased into the back seat, her heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm that kept warm blood flowing to her swollen vulva. She was listening for Ronnie, but when he moved between her car and Barney's camper, she almost jumped out of her skin.
The grinning boy--how had he gained so much in confidence so quickly?--got in the back seat beside her. She held out her arms, and he leaned toward her, getting a rubbing grip on her left breast as their mouths came together in a kiss. When they separated, he laughed somewhat self-consciously and pointed to the front of his school denims, which were bulging out from a brand new hard-on.
Amy said: "Ooooh, how do you do it so quick?" and Ronnie replied: "Ever since you phoned me this morning, there's been a hard-on lurking in there. You know, Amy, I just can't believe all that's happened to me in a couple of days."
She was fumbling his cock out of his pants, her cheeks flushed with the rising joy in her breast and between her legs. "I can't believe it, either, Ronnie," she whispered. "But I'm glad for it. You'll never know! Ohhh, he smells so good!"
She bent her mouth close to the swelling purple head and pulled the thick, soft foreskin back as far as it would go. The phenomenon of the head getting larger, shinier, as it was pulled down by the restraining cord, touched her. It was so long ago that she had seen this male oddity for the last time. With Carl, of course. She had never been close enough with Ralph to do such a bold thing.
In a rush of heat that clogged her throat with tension, she leaned down and took the lovely thing in her mouth, sucking it very hard for just a couple of seconds. Her face was a deep crimson as she came up, and her hands went to the top buttons of her uniform. "It literally makes me feel hot," she said in a husky voice. "I don't mean fuck-hot, although it certainly does that. I mean summer-day hot, sweaty hot."
The big boy shoved his right hand between her thighs. "I want to feel your sweat," he said, and then: "Damn! I didn't realize you wore pantyhose!"
She lifted her rump. "Pull them off," she said. "I left them on so you could do that. And, baby, I'm sweating. For you!"
As the garment peeled down her thighs and then off, to be draped over the front seat, Ronnie's hand went back between the woman's thighs. "You weren't kidding," he grinned. "You are sweating! God, it feels great!"
His hand moved under her, his fingers tickling in her wet cunt hair, getting between the lips which had been oiling themselves all morning with desire and anticipation. She wriggled on his fingers, holding him tightly around the neck, her face against his. "Oh, God, that feels good," she moaned. "Oh, Ronnie, I still can't believe a boy so young could know so much! Tell me again, how do you learn?"
He giggled, his fingers prying slickly into her, his thumb pressing somewhere around her clit as she moved her ass jerkily.
"I told you. Some real hot books. Then all that business every day with Terry. Neither of us was afraid to ask. Or to tell. And she'd let me look, most of the time. Just for a second. But I found where everything was."
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked in a choked voice. "I can get wide open for you. You can watch it go in, like yesterday. Ooooh! I could cum right this minute!" There was a sharp pang of lust far up her cum-slick twat, the quiver of aching muscle around her cervix. He could feel her entire ass tighten, feel the soft flicker of cunt muscles around his fingers. He suddenly fucked into her with his fingers, shoving hard and deep, saying: "Unnnhhh! Unnnhhh!" like a hog.
The big lump of hard feeling inside her vagina seemed to break like an abscess of pure pleasure, letting the electricity of orgasm flare and bloom in the dark of her cunt.
"Oh, baby!" she cried, fucking against his hand as hard and as rapidly as she could. "Ohhh! Oh, Ronnie! Hold still, baby! Just--keep--your--hand--AAARRRGGGHHH! OOOOH, OOOOH!"
And then, as the orgasm drained her momentarily of feeling, she held his arm and closed her eyes, letting the red flare of cumming die in the dark of her closed lids.
She opened her eyes to find the boy laughing, his face proud. "Oh, man, that makes me feel good!" he said. Look at my hands! Clear out of sight! Oh, Miz Morris--Amy, I mean--could you sort of raise up, so I can see how you look with my fingers in you?" His eyes were hot, and he was licking his lips.
Amy slid toward him, raising her right leg, the one next to the back of the seat. With some effort, she got her left leg up, resting on the front seat on her pantyhose. Her shoulders were against the corner of the car, and she pushed, so that her ass came closer to Ronnie's intent face. "There it is, baby!" she gasped. "Do you like it?
He moved his fingers in and out, watching her clear, warm juice run down his other fingers. "I wish I could suck it and fuck it at the same time, he groaned. "It's beautiful!"
He remembered his mother's cunt, the way it was last night as he had seen it, close up. "It's wonderful to have you suck me," he mused, still working his fingers. Amy, hanging on the wildly pleasurable edge of another cum, moved her bottom slowly from side to side. His big fingers were enough to stretch her almost as fully as his beautiful cock. Her throat ached for his load of rich, milky-white seed.
"If you lie on the seat," she said, "I can suck you and you can be shoving your fingers into me. I can cum that way. Oh, baby!" she cried, slapping her wide, strongly muscled ass up and down on the seat. "Shove! Shove! I'm cumming again!"
She held still after the small, delicious orgasm had passed, but her body was quivering with excitement. In her position, she could see his cock standing rigid and throbbing. "Come on," she demanded. She moved quickly, uncunting his fingers, and sat up. "Get on the seat. On your back. Oh, my God, look at that beauty!"
She got her left knee down beside Ronnie's arm. "Maybe I'll have to rest my right foot on the floor," she said in a strained voice. "I want my cunt where you can play in it! My boyfriend's playground," she said, and sobbed. "Oh, Ronnie, this is so good!"
He put his two fingers inside her cunt, again feeling the warm slickness of her cunt flow on his hand. "Are you going to suck me real hard?" he asked. "Do you want me to cum quick?"
He felt her warm hand on the stem of his young cock, drawing it to her drooling mouth, and he shivered with the anticipated heat and joy of getting his nuts off in that sweetly sucking mouth and feeling the excitement in her body expressed by the wild dance of vaginal muscles on his fingers.
She took the big, purple head just barely into her mouth as she would have taken a very ripe plum. Her suction was mild, and she rolled her tongue across the smooth, tasty head. She remembered how Terry's mouth had been when her girl was a baby, sucking on her swollen, sensitive nipples, and she repeated the soft suck several times, loving the rankness of a young boy's sweat, the taste that was so much like her own cunt.
A wild thought entered her mind. He's had it in some cunt since last night. It was all sucked clean when he left me. And then she knew she was wrong; he couldn't even get it up.
And meanwhile the delight of his strong fingers working in her pussy, the feeling of having her ass spread wide open in lust, plus the feel and savor of sucking his cock were giving her the trembling, burning sensation up her cunt that preceded each orgasm she'd had the last two days.
She continued to suck the head of Ronnie's prick lightly and rhythmically, but the aching desire in her throat persisted, so she went down on it really hard, enjoying the painful pleasure as it smacked into the back of her throat. It felt as if his cock bent, or her throat straightened out. Surely he was getting pretty far down in her gullet.
She felt something new. The boy's body was straining under her, his shoulders off the seat. He was reaching his mouth to her cunt! With a glad cry that was smothered against his cock, she lowered her opened slash to his face, rubbing back and forth so that his hot mouth could find her clit, but so that it could also range back to her sex-hole so that he could suck the juice out of her painfully ready vagina.
She loved the feeling of his peter in her throat. It was so masterful. Men, and only men, could do this. But she was worried. If some of Ronnie's hot flow spurted into her gullet, it would be in her belly before she could taste it.
She felt the boy's warm, sweet mouth work up and down in her trough of sex, felt her body tense with the urgencies of cumming. It was forming inside her now. She was ready to pop her ovaries, and she groped in her pleasure-dazed mind to count her orgasms. As she did this, the fireworks went off in her pussy, all the way up to the blood-black mouth of her womb, and she seemed to feel each hair tingle as her fire and fever ran out of her, into the boy's mouth. Her hands were busy, one holding his staff as she sucked the bursting head, the other under his thigh, fondling his nuts. How sweet a boy's jism was! How utterly good and wholesome! It was like the thickest of cream, but slicker, richer, because it was alive. The thought made her suck all the more expertly, trying to feel and to taste each lovely drop as his young organ squirted it into her mouth. Alive! Of course! That was what made it so sweet, so dear, so clean! She became aware of another pleasure. Ronnie had been squeezing her titties, at least with one hand. She slowed her sucking, just making it sufficient to coax out the last drops, the final tiny spurts. Her leg gave way and her body collapsed on the boy's face.
She let him lift her, thinking what a load her inert body must be for him, and by concentrating, was able to brace her leg on the floor and take her weight off his face.
"I could piss in your face," she laughed. The way she used the strong, ancient word so freely, when it would have shocked her so only yesterday, gave her a good feeling. Fuck and cock and cunt, all of these noble old words from our history, how wonderful they were. Part of the fun of fucking. The joy of living. And she thought of the young boy's spermatozoa, alive, alive, alive! Kicking their microscopic bodies down her gullet, blindly hoping to meet an egg somewhere in this warm body.
They were sitting together, now. Ronnie's soft old denims were around his ankles, along with his shorts. "I managed to get my uniform damn near off," Amy laughed. "Wonderful how you can do such things." She ran her hand up under his T-shirt, feeling the slick sweetness of his perspiration on his clean hide. And just as suddenly, he had his face between her breasts, licking them, mashing them, his arms down around her strong thighs, his hands stroking her.
"It feels so good," he whispered. "Just feeling. You know what I mean? Just to feel your skin and your hair!"
He giggled. "Talk about pissing," he said. "You know, when I was a little kid, I thought that's what a guy did. To cum, I mean. That he stuck it in a girl's cunt and pissed. Of course," he added, "that was before I knew very much."
Amy held onto the boy as a shimmer of intense heat swept her mind as well as her body. To lie supine, legs outstretched, and hold the lips of her pussy wide open while that hot, yellow flow from Ronnie's peter streamed in a hard, hot flow against her sensitized cunt! Or, better yet, if he could get it into her, and fill her vagina with a burning douche from his bladder--how incredibly wonderful, how insanely lascivious!
"We can do that," she said hoarsely. "You can stick it in me and piss! Oh, my God! Hold me!" She began to hump her ass on the seat of the car, grunting and groaning, and he pushed one of his hands under her, feeling the firm, regular beat of her body as another orgasm blazed through her.
"Wow!" she whispered, her body relaxing. "That's what you call thinking yourself off! I could just see you, feel you, letting all that hot yellow piss go inside me. Running out all over my ass! We've got to do that!"
Ronnie laughed. "A guy can't get a drop of pee out while he's got a hard-on," he said regretfully. "No way! Even if you wake up with a piss hard-on, you know, not a real one, and jerk off, and feel like your bladder will burst, you can't piss until it goes down. All the way down."
"I'll bet I can find a way," Amy mused. "Gee, that warm air feels good on my boobs. It even feels good to sweat." She lifted his pecker and kissed it. "He's still nice and fat," she said. "You couldn't wring a drop of peepee out of him now?" She got her finger under the soft, flexible foreskin. "Look how much room there is in it," she marveled. "It's like the heart of a flower, inside the leaves. Let me lick around in there."
When she had finished, with Ron squirming in pleasure, she had another idea. "I said I could find a way," she said, her eyes laughing. "You just wait. I'll show you some new stuff."
She opened the barbecued chicken and broke off a leg for each of them. They ate ham and cheese on rolls, and the boy, laughing, wiped his fingers, red with barbecue sauce, in her bush of blonde cunt hair. When she told him he'd just have to lick it off, he got her pushed back, then stuck a pickle in her fuck-hole.
She squealed as he worked the warty pickle in and out of her softened, reddened lips, her relaxed vagina. "Now, you've made me into a sour-puss," she cried. "I'll put mustard on your dumb old cock and eat it like a weenie!"
He wrestled her back on the seat and put his mouth around the pickle, sucking on it until it came out with a pop. She leaped at the sensation. As he held the pickle in his mouth, he watched her brown-and-pink asshole winking at him, and had the crazy notion of sticking the pickle into her there, into her clenching guts. And eating it? Maybe. Maybe. It was pretty heavy to think about. But he kept his thumb pressed on the wide, hard band of muscle between her cunt and her anal sphincter as he very solemnly cleaned the hot sauce off her cunt.
There was no thought, spoken or unspoken, that they would try to fuck again. Not right now. Both were learning something about Ronnie's limits. But they talked, and he played with her titties, diving his hand now and again between her thighs.
"Do ladies have wet dreams?" he asked Amy. "You know, like a guy does when he's sort of, you know, hard up? You know about them, don't you?"
She tried to think. Yes, she had, years ago, when Carl had first left. And she knew that poor Ralph, so locked in old ideas that he was unable to fuck, sometimes left pools of cold, sticky semen on the sheets. I was so dumb, she thought. I could have gotten him to screw me. To Ronnie, she said: "Sure. Of course. Ladies have dreams like that. They don't shoot off, though. But you already know that. What makes you ask?
But he flushed and said: "Oh, nothing. Just curious."
She had a flash of memory, of how his cock had tasted. His mother was liable to come home drunk. Real, falling-down drunk. Would a boy like Ronnie, his age, at a period when he was curious about everything connected with sex--could he have--but no, that was crazy. She couldn't even get it to rise for her.
"Okay, dear," she said mildly. "Ladies can have wet dreams. And it leaves them feeling sort of dry and achey."
His face flushed with pleasure. So he had done mom some good. That made him feel a lot better, helped him shed a heavy load of deep guilt. "And if they were, uh, real sound asleep," he said, looking straight ahead, "I'll bet a guy could stick it in them, and they could cum, and never know."
Oh-oh, he's kidding himself or he's been kidded, Amy's inner self said. Her soft-spoken comment was: "Maybe so, Ronnie." But she knew that she couldn't have stayed asleep. Not even if she were very, very drunk? She thought not.
She began to gather up the debris of their meal. There was some left. She could take it home. She buttoned her uniform, but not before she offered her swollen breast for the boy's kiss. It reminded her of the way she had sucked him, and she stroked his dark head softly, lovingly. "Did you like the way I sucked your peter, Ronnie?" she asked. "Was it fun for you, that way?"
He held her face and kissed her. "Wonderful," he exclaimed. "But what made it the best was when I was watching your pussy, your pretty pink lips, your sweet little cunt hole." He shook his head. Something struck him. "Dark complexioned ladies have cunts entirely different," he blurted. "The big lips with hair on them, on you, they're white. Or pink, anyhow."
A strange, warm feeling began to glow in Amy's mind. Even in her body. This child, what had he been up to? She moved her head, trying to meet his eyes. "Why, yes, Ronnie," she said. "Blonde ladies had light skin. I guess all of them," thinking of the many times she'd seen her daughter's young cunt. "What was that about brunette ladies? Are they different-?"
"Damn right!" he said huskily. "Damn right! Their big lips, on the inside, you know, they're pink. Darker, but pink. But on the outside, where the hair is, they're, well, sort of black."
His face was flushed, his breath ragged. Amy made a clear statement to herself: He's fucked Cathy. Or he wanted to!
It gave her an incredible swell of heat. She was holding her pantyhose, but she dropped them and kissed the boy, getting her tongue deep into his mouth, sucking his tongue avidly. As she had thought he would, he automatically reached between her thighs, and she opened them, opened her weeping pussy for his fingers, so hot she could not breathe without a cum.
After he had finger-fucked her hard, and she had blown her wad on his fingers again, she laughed and kissed him.
"Listen," she said. "I'll get home early, maybe. If your mom's not home, I could maybe sneak over."
He smiled, getting his old slacks fastened. "And if old Terry's not on the warpath," he answered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There must have been almost a visible aura of sex around Amy after that sensually intense hour with her teenage lover. After she checked her appearance in the mirror in the ladies' lounge, and putting a pad of Kleenex in her pantyhose to soak up the still-dripping juices from her vagina, she had to pass Jim Tingen, the assistant manager on the stairs. They were very narrow, and he made an exaggerated show of giving her room. Actually, he made her stop, so that his face, since he was a couple of steps lower than she, was on a level with her cunt.
He always kidded all the girls, but had been less blatant with Amy. But today, he inhaled deeply, rolled his eyes, and snapped his teeth together at about the exact level of her crotch, like a dog snapping at a piece of meat.
And Amy, feeling more a part of the real world, giggled and said: "Down, Rover! You'd better go eat your lunch, or none of us girls will be safe!" It surprised both of them.
And when Barney Knowles came back from his lunch with the supervisor, he stopped by her checkstand, moved into the confined space with her and went through a routine with the cash register which she knew was unnecessary, and whispered: "You sure do smell good!" What's more, he put a hand on her shoulder, patted it, and dropped the hand swiftly down to her butt, patting her there, too. So lightly that she barely felt it.
He was a big, quiet man. Everyone liked him, and most of the women who worked in the store adored him. Even before he and his wife split up after she had drifted in with a bad bunch, almost any girl employee would have dated him, screwed him, or whatever he wanted. But he had kept away from any connection with the help. "He doesn't believe in sticking his peter into the payroll," Agnes Bentley, a senior checker, had laughed.
So, to Amy's certain knowledge, this was the closest that Barney had ever come to an overt, personal gesture with anyone in the market. It left her feeling warmer than ever. And when, as she was in the stockroom for register tape, he stopped by her and said: "Maybe we could do something together on your day off," she knew that the past eighteen or twenty hours had changed her.
"I must smell like the leeward side of a pussy factory," she murmured to herself. But her cheeks were flushed with pride. She could not help feeling warm at the thought of a man like Barney Knowles. And she felt no disloyalty to Ronnie. She had sense enough to know that Ronnie was sex fantasy. Barney, if he meant any part of what he's said, might mean reality.
She felt so much more confident of herself that she did not wait for Ronnie to call her. Instead, when she got home and found that Terry had come home and left again, leaving a note that she was at the home of another friend, she went out into her own backyard and began taking off her clothes. It worked.
When she was quite naked, she heard a rustling in the hedge and Ronnie, his face expectant, came into view, wearing only his surfer trunks, which he quickly kicked off.
The chaise pad was still on the cement block of the arbor.
They stood in a complete embrace, and Amy's skin, still feeling sensitive from their noon-hour and her thoughts, seemed to come alive at the warmth and smoothness of Ronnie's young body.
"The only way you're going to be safe, young man," she said in mock severity, "is not to be able to get this thing up!"
He goosed into her sweated asscrack, his fingers going right into the lush, dripping muscles which kept her cunt closed. When she pushed back at his fingers, he slipped them all the way in, and bent his head so that he could suck one of her titties.
They collapsed on the mat in a laughing tangle, and the woman, who had not been able to banish from her mind the lascivious picture she had kept, of the boy kneeling between her legs and directing a hard jet of yellow urine against her cunt, took his prick in her hand and said chokingly: "Is he too hard to piss with?"
When he said ruefully that this was true, she licked her lips and said: "Okay, get on your back. Women don't have that trouble." Her voice was blurred by a hard thrust of passion.
When she started to get astride of the boy, and he realized that she meant to piss against his cock, he felt his heart leap, his blood begin to pound. But he thought of something even more pleasurable, and whispered raggedly: "No. Turn your back to me!"
They were both nearly out of their normal minds with the kinkiness of his sexual deviation, but Amy laughed as she got her legs across the boy's slim loins with her ass aimed at his face. It looked twice as large to him, absolutely magnificent, and he laid his warm hands on its smooth, rounded firmness. He could smell the sharp, clean tang of woman-sweat, and the heavy, throat-clogging odor of hot pussy. He heard Amy laugh huskily, and her request: "I'm sort of stuck together, baby. Pull me apart!" And then his thumbs were on the warm, thickly haired softness of her cuntlips and Amy lunged forward as his pressure broke her cunt-seal of congealed vaginal juices.
She had worked hard all afternoon. When she wasn't at a register, she was taking a break, sitting on a bench in the lounge. She had thrown away the stuck-together Kleenexes, and her warm weight had simply pressed the thick lips together. The sweet drippings from her cunt had leaked out, dried, and closed her up.
The curly blonde hairs around her cunthole were thickly encrusted with dried cum. Her vaginal aperture, now exposed, was so alive that it seemed to be inhaling and exhaling. The hair farther up toward her belly was dry and made a thick little bush on either side of her many-petaled cuntal valley. It was the most beautiful sight that Ronnie had ever seen.
He gasped: "Would you please move back just a sec? I want to suck you! Oh, boy! Do I ever!" And he groaned with lust as she very accurately aimed her wide-open pussy at his mouth.
A mouthful of the rich, zesty cunt ooze had built up in Amy, and her vaginal walls were exuding more. When he sucked out the hoarded juice, his vacuuming mouth drawing the sensitive sleeve into a tight contact, she had to choke back a scream, and a warm flush of minor orgasm stirred in her belly. The seal, the hard work, the warm afternoon had given her pussy its ripest flavor, a gourmet hint of mildly fragrant cheese. His teeth scraped up a dozen or more small, semi-solid lumps from between the reddened convolutions of her labia, and he savored them gratefully, aware that he was getting a real treat.
When she pulled away and raised her loins again above his, he could see that his cock was as hard as it could get. He said: "I'm going to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you! God, how nice it's going to be to slide my cock into you! You're so tight! So hot and sweet!"
Her face appeared, laughing, upside down between her hanging breasts. Their nipples were hard, almost blood-red with her excitement. "Boy, you'll really be ready after I shoot my peepee all over you," she said. "Get your fingers into your foreskin. You know how I did at noon? Hold it open for me!"
He giggled, clumsily achieving what she had asked, waiting what was to come with nervous and delighted anticipation. No grown man, he'd bet, or at least not many, had ever been this deep into sex.
He watched her blonde-furred pussy, seeing its fleshly petals move, seeing the bubbly closure of her cunt quiver. And then a hot stream shot from the upper part of the nest of pink labia, as yellow as amber and, by happy accident, striking directly into the cup of skin his foreskin made around his cockhead.
It was a sensation that was so intense he could not move or yell. Hot, wet, powerful, the flow from Amy's bladder seemed to engulf every taut, screaming nerve in his penis, all through his cock, deep into his balls. There was a steamingly acrid odor, sharper than the smell of his own urine, he thought. Woman-piss, his darkly sexual mind whispered in its secrecy. Woman-piss. He would never forget it, if he lived to be a thousand years old.
He lost some of the light which was showing Amy's tits and face and blonde hair, and felt a warm, sweet caress on his feet. In the kinky heat of her own passion, she was sucking his toes!
He had a sudden wild urge to stick his thumb in her cunt and his index finger into the muscular rankness of her asshole, but before he could implement the wish, Amy stopped her flow of piss and turned back to him. One of her breasts appeared at his mouth, and he sucked it. He heard the woman's breath hiss through her clenched teeth, and even in the labyrinth of his own fuck-fevered mind, he knew she was hanging on against a wild orgasm.
"I'm going to shoot my cum-gravy into you," she whispered. "And I'm going to leave it in. You know why?"
"Yes!" Amy groaned. "Yes-yes-yes-yes-YESSS! So you can piss inside me! Oh, Ronnie baby, let me get your big, beautiful cock in my hot, sloppy old cunt! Let me fuck you real hard, till you shoot your rich, sweet cream all over my womb!" Her body was moving in the rhythmic, back-and-forth glide of a fuck, her eyes were closed. She was, quite literally, lost in a dream of passion.
He was hot, too, but he very tenderly helped her get over him, pushing his hard prick down so that the blood-gorged head was aimed at the cum-flooded entry to her vagina. Seeing her hot stream of piss fly out from that nest of blonde hair and pink labia had been so terrifically aphrodisiac that its feel had almost been too much. The strange tickle as it flowed and cooled in his own pubic hair, over his balls, into the crack of his ass had helped him hold back.
"Just take it easy," he whispered, tickled by the intensely serious look on her sweetly mature face. He was so close that he could see the crepey flesh under her eyes, along her throat. It was like his mother's skin. The thought made her seem all the sweeter to him, the coming fuck all the more wildly exciting. Fucking grown-ups! Wow! His mother, too! Beautiful! Too much!
"Oh, Jesus!" he groaned as he felt the tightness of her cunt close over the throbbing head of his tool. "I'm going to shoot it, Amy! Ohhh! Thanks!" His high voice had touched some button in her fuck-crazed mind. To make it last, cool it! So she held her body stock-still, although she felt it would kill her if she did not shoot the accumulated wad of heat very soon.
She felt him throb, but the look of tension on his face had eased, and she pushed her body down, her cunt wrapped around his hard cock. She suddenly began kissing him on the face, on his smooth cheeks, on his neck. It enabled her to wait, and she grinned at him impishly, holding his young face between her hands.
"You didn't wash your face, you bad boy," she whispered. "I can smell my pussy on you! Taste it, too!" and she licked his lips and chin, driving her tongue between his lips, so that, for a moment, they sucked tongues and rolled their bodies in silent passion. During this moment of high heat, she felt her cunt go all the way down so that it took in his entire prick. "My lovely peter's all the way into me," she whispered. "Why don't you go on and cum?"
He reached down to grab the cheeks of her smooth rump, feeling moisture, knowing it was overflow from her hot pussy. It made him think of, licking up the juice as soon as they had finished their fuck. And it made him laugh.
"You dummy," he whispered into Amy's ear. "That wasn't cunt juice from noon. That was from just now. A minute ago." He felt her throb and lunged up, driving his cock into her very hard, feeling it jar against her womb until his nuts echoed the pain.
"Cum!" he began to shout. "Fuck me, Amy! Shoot it!" And all the time he was pulling her rump down and forward as if he were using her body, her cunt grip, in a mad, mammoth jerk-off.
She was pumping blindly, letting the built-up orgasm blast out of her cunt, feeling the muscles clasp and grip his peter. Every silently screaming nerve in her belly, around her outer genitalia and her rectum, everything that was connected with her fierce love of sex was involved. She felt his spurts of jism and screamed: "Your cream, baby! Feed me with it! Feed my poor, hungry cunt!" And then, as his spurts grew less, she fell over and drew him on top of her, keeping his hard cock inside her, pulling his face down, kissing him with her tongue.
"How sweet to fuck," she whispered brokenly, tossing her happy loins from side to side. "I feel your cum leaking out all over my pussy. Oh, Ronnie, it's so hot and slick!" She leaped with an idea. "Pull out, suck out your cream, and let me have it with a long kiss," she demanded. "Then stick it back in me until you can piss!" She was excited and wildly happy.
The entire idea pleased the boy. To see that cunt, its hair decorated with his creamy white semen like festoons of popcorn on a Christmas tree! He pulled out and got her legs over his shoulders, hoisting her body up so that he could hold her sex-split wide open, just at his chin. It had been such a gorgeous fuck, so wild and so complete. Now, licking up his own rich seed, he sneakily swallowed part of it. So rich, so good! And maybe it would help him to manufacture more jism.
When he had sucked out the main load, holding it warm and thick in his mouth, he let the strong legs down, rubbing one last kiss between the swollen, dripping lips.
He lay down on Amy, and let her slip her tongue into his mouth so that she could receive, drop by drop, the silken-slick bounty from his young nuts and their explosion inside her. It was a delicious treat for her and an arousing experience for him. But it had its own disappointment.
When he broke the mouth-to-mouth contact and the woman anxiously reached for his cock, so that he could shove it into her for the wildness of douching her with his piss, it was too soft.
"Damn it all!" she exclaimed. "Why did I have to be such a jism-freak? Oh, Ronnie, I could kill myself!"
He laughed at her, kneeling between her rounded thighs as she frigged at his cock in desperation. "We can do all of this again," he comforted her. "Remember, you really did want my cum. Didn't you? And I'm just ready for a big piss!"
She nearly squeezed the head off his dick. "Of course I wanted that cream," she purred. "Oh, baby, it's so delicious! And I'm already hot again. But not quite hot enough. Lie down on me and play with my titties. And I'll keep my hand between us and play with your balls."
He held his young butt humped over her so that she could rub gently along the underside of his prick, fondling his balls as she did so. He gently took the big, bloated nipples into his mouth, giving them the same sort of quick, in-and-out suck she had given the head of his cock at noon. In a minute or two, she began to rub his limp but still fat cock up and down against the wet channel of her pussy. She closed her eyes and began to breathe through her mouth. She was getting up, up, up for what was about to happen, and he knew that, if he was going to do what they had planned, it had better be quick. "Easy, Amy," he cautioned her. "If you get it up again, no peepee."
She immediately let go of his tool, opened her eyes, and smiled up at him. "Oh, honey, I'm ready," she whispered. "Have you got a lot of that hot old piss to shoot into me?"
"Yeah," he said. His voice, too, was choked. "Goddamn, this is the hottest thing I've ever done. Or thought of. But I guess it's the same for you, isn't it?" He was up on his knees again, holding his young cock. No doubt about this. He was more than ready. "Oh, Amy," he groaned, "this is going to be so great!"
She reached her two hands down, using her first and second fingers to hold herself open. It stretched all the thick, heavy skin far apart, revealing her pearly-pink membranes, the blood forced out by her pressure. He could see her clitoris, so like a tiny peter, and it seemed to be throbbing under its protective cloak of sensitive flesh. Under it was the oozing cluster of thick inner lips, and farther down he saw the dear, delicious hole where his young cock had known its primal joy.
He saw her thighs open wider, she shut her eyes, and he heard her voice, clear and sweet: "Piss, Ronnie! Piss on my cunt!"
He gave the needed pressure to get the flow started, and then watched in fascination as the yellow stream struck her bush of cunt hair, trickled up her smooth belly, and then he was aiming lower, right where her clitoris jumped and twitched. He realized that, due to their difference in structure, his stream of urine was much finer than hers, hence was hitting the tender cunt with the force of a needle-shower. He shivered with delight as her body bucked and heaved, and she shouted hoarsely: "Oh, piss on me, Ronnie! OH GOD! I'M CUMMING! OH, DARLING, PISS ON ME! OHHHHH! OHHHHHH!"
It was a hoarse scream, and it almost awed the boy. Until yesterday, he had never consummated any real sexual contact with a woman, unless you count his shooting his load all over the warm, sweet hands of this woman's daughter, and feeling that child cum on his finger. But now, in twenty-four hours, he was having experiences which many experienced cunt-hounds never know.
In fierce concentration, he held his stream of voided urine on the gyrating cunt, hitting right into the fuck-hole, which was working in and out as though trying to drink his piss. It had splashed all over the smooth, blue-veined inner thighs, and there was a yellow puddle of it in her navel, where his first spurt had been overshot. It was gathering in a spreading pool under the lovely, powerfully arching ass, and he suddenly realized that he was kneeling in a wet spot where Amys' pee had flowed over him, down under him. It was wild and lovely.
He thought he caught a flicker of movement by the corner of the house, but he knew that was foolish. Still, Amy had just said that Terry was "away somewhere," without saying for how long. Proud as he was of the swirling plunge into far-out sex, he still felt he might not want anyone to know of this new trick.
He dropped to his hands and knees, watching the change in the woman's face as she came back to the normal world. Her body was gently writhing, and she whispered: "Stick a finger into me. Feel me. I'm still cumming! All up inside me!"
He slowly inserted his longest finger, delving into her sloppy tightness to press hard against her womb. She jumped hard.
"I didn't say to tear me up inside," she exclaimed, but she hung on to his wrist and forearm and fucked herself up and down very hard, very fast on his finger. He could feel the warm, wet squeeze of those wonderful muscles inside her, and he shivered with delight, thinking how they had milked his cock, and how they would milk his cock again and again in the months to come.
When her body had at last relaxed and the woman lay, loose and unmoving, on the canvas pad, when she had let go his arm with a sigh, his tired hand slipped out of her cunt. He could feel no movement in the sloppy folds of membrane, and he wished suddenly that he could fuck into such a soft, slick, unresponsive cunt. Just to let it go, to lie quietly with his prick wrapped in warm, sloppy-slick, utterly quiescent inner muscle and cum without moving his body. Quietly, letting his cream shoot up her into the dark heat of her cunt, flowing back around the head of his dick.
He was still kneeling there, lost in his dream of fucking, when Amy inched her naked body away from him and sat up. She was squinting into the sun. Her heels were back against her softly muscled rump, with her arms around her knees and her thighs together. Her cunt, looking fatter than ever, made a long slit that disappeared between the cheeks of her ass.
The boy got up easily and pulled her up as she held out a hand. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," she laughed. "Actually, it felt too wonderful to bear. I guess that all that heat, and all we've done today and yesterday, sort of brought my insides down, out of hiding." She leaned against him, kissing his face, feeling of his warm, soft cock. "He's so nice," she whispered. "Sweet!"
With an oddly mature tenderness, the boy held the older woman and kissed her. Only yesterday, as he had said, he had been a nobody, a nothing an unknowing teenager. Now, incredibly, he felt completely equal, sexually, to Amy. Indeed, to anyone.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he teased her. "Licking up some of your own pee. When I fucked you, a lot of it ran out of my hair onto you. I got it all over my face when I sucked you."
She clung to him, panting again. "Hush!" she groaned. "I'll be hot again! Oh, God, Ronnie, wasn't that the craziest, hottest thing anyone could do? Would you ever do it again?"
"Why not?" he laughed. "There's an old guy works in maintenance at the High School, funny old bird. Laney Wilkins, maybe you know her, a real pretty girl, Miss Poinsettia this year-anyhow, she was posing in a bikini for some kind of school picture, and he said: "I'd let her pee in my eye just, to get to see where it came from! Well, I feel the same way about you."
She clung to him, panting. In her heart, she knew she would never dare anything so kinky with a mature male. Certainly not with a fellow like Barney. Only with some wild kid, some crazy kid that she could control. But she wanted just exactly that kind of kick, the fevered heat of the deepest, most secret indulgences. The deepest, or perhaps it was the highest, that sex could take her.
"Some day," she whispered, "we can get in a bathtub together, and I'll sit down and suck you off, and afterwards, you can piss all over me. On my breasts!" She felt the hard-rising sexual pain in her nipples, the quick swell of blood in her breasts, making them heavier. The words stuck in her face, but she held on to him and got them out: "You can piss in my face!"
CHAPTER NINE
Sometimes, a shock that would have struck you down a day before, granted an expansion of your understanding in the meanwhile, can leave you untouched. Growth that takes years for some can happen in a day. Two people in Del Rey Beach had just such an experience, but only one had to face the shock.
Amy Morris went quickly into her home by the back door. Even before Ronnie had disappeared into the hedge, she was out of sight on her back porch. Still naked. Carrying her clothing in her hands, her body still quivering from the wildly lustful pictures she had verbalized only moments before. And she felt marvelous. Strong, sure, in love with sex and her sexual capacity.
There was the rank odor of urine hanging around her. Hers and Ronnie's. She licked her lips. She had, in all truth, tasted her own piss, and its harsh acridity, its ammoniac subtlety, made it seem divine. Because of what it stood for. And part of it, most of it on her body, was Ronnie's, her teenage paramour's. She did not want to lose this raunchy love-smell, but she felt that she must shower before Terry got home. She need not have worried.
As she moved silently on bare feet into the hall, her child, also as naked as the day she was born, leaned against the bathroom door, smiling at her mother in a very odd way.
Amy stopped dead. The full meaning of it, by some freakish intuition, some marvel of ESP, went streaming through her mind. Terry, naked like this? Terry, smiling at her like this, after the weird and painful confrontation of yesterday? The sweep of complete knowledge took only a heart beat. In some utterly mad thrust of unbelievable justice, fate had brought Terry home in time to see, to hear, all the beautiful insanity that had wrapped her and the young boy in pure lust.
Given the circumstances as a theory, and asked what she could or would do if such a thing had happened to her, Amy Morris, the quiet, chaste mother, the amiable, efficient employee, would have answered: "It would kill me!" Yesterday.
But there was something very, very strange in the mental electricity which passed between mother and daughter. Amy did not, in word or gesture, not even in thought, plead for understanding. And certainly not for pity. All right, she had descended into complete animalism. Or so the world would say. All right, maybe every soul in California would turn away from her if they knew. But in the same flare of intuitive analysis which had convinced her that her daughter knew, there was a powerful and positive sense, like a giant beam of warm light, that told her she was not in any way under criticism from young Terry.
Why? She didn't know and never would. Terry didn't know and never would. But they stood there together, both naked, both human, and little Terry's smile grew brighter and sweeter until Amy, feeling a blessed flood of relief but not one iota of guilt, simply moved a step or two and held out her arms.
The smoothness of the young girl's body, the natural warmth between them, made this seem the ultimate expression of love to both of the women, the one of thirty-six, the one almost thirteen.
They stood together, not quite breast to breast, because Amy was taller, and not quite cunt to cunt. But the warm young girl felt the dampness of her mother's pubic muff, the remains of Ronnie's urine. And she smelled the acridness of piss, but also the other, richer perfume--the congealing cunt juice, the rubbed flesh, the living and joyful odor of a hot pussy.
The two women clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces, kissing each other over and over. Not sexually in any way, simply in human warmth, in maternal and filial love.
"You saw it all, baby," Amy smiled. Perhaps some shock would strike her later. But right now, although she knew it was crazy and unbelievable, she had never felt such love for her child or from her child. Peace that passeth all understanding. And love of an equal value.
"Not all, Mama," the girl whispered. "Mama!" She hadn't called her mother "Mama" since she was five years old! Amy's heart thudded as she held the sweetly nubile girl-woman.
"I saw the last part, you know, when Ronnie was, well, you know. Peeing against your, uh, whatchacallem. " The girl's face was flushed as she bent her head, leaning on Mother's breast.
Amy gave her a gentle shake. "You and I can never talk like that again," she said. "This is a wild thing. Has any other mother and daughter been forced into such a wildness of, well, brutal honesty with each other? I can't believe it. And yet I know you don't hate me and I don't fear you." she hesitated.
"What I did may have been beastly. Well, life has treated me, well, all I'll say is, not too good. Something happened to wake me up. I know that sounds defensive. I don't mean it to."
"Oh, Mama," Terry whispered brokenly, and Amy realized that the child was crying, hard, wracking sobs that shook her. "I'm glad that you and Ronnie got off so crazy." She sniffed and threw her golden head back. Her sweet face wore a tremulous smile. "I never even imagined anything so far out!"
Amy kissed the child again. Her heartbeat was normal, not a vestige of guilt or remorse touched her. "I was on my way to a shower," she smiled. "I dare say I'm a little gamey." She wrinkled her nose.
"You smell great," Terry laughed. "Mama, why do I feel so good about everything? I felt so lousy yesterday. And last night. I guess I feel like we're friends. Could that be it?"
Amy Morris sighed. "I said that life had treated me badly, didn't it? I meant my mother, really. And I've been doing the same to you. Almost the same. Thank God that what happened to me, happened." She was fooling with the shower taps, adjusting the stream, getting a balance of hot and cold water, and she stepped into the tub. The hard stream beat its thousand warm little finger-taps on her breasts. She shivered, remembering what she had planned with Ronnie. Now, in this meeting with her daughter, with a new feeling between them, she didn't think she ever could.
"I'll bet that feels good on your boobs, Mama," the young girl laughed. For all her quick feeling of maturity, she felt a lot younger than she had this morning.
Amy was cupping her hands under her breasts. "They feel good," she said. "Tell me, baby, when you, uh, got off, playing around with Ronnie, letting him finger-fuck you, didn't your titties swell up? And your nipples? I'd forgotten how good it feels."
The young girl giggled. "Golly, Mom, it's sure funny, you talking to me like that. Finger-fucking! Really!" She made a simpering, mock-angry face. "But why not? After what's happened, we're more like sisters. Or sisters-in-law, as some of the kids say at school. When two girls are screwing the same guy." She laughed easily and reached out to pat one of Amy's breasts. "They sure are nice, Mom."
Inwardly, Amy grinned. It was "Mom" again, instead of the childhood "Mama" that Terry had used a few minutes before. Good. The child was right. She felt easier. Both of them did.
"Not bad, I suppose, for an old lady. Man, a little sex sure does marvelous things for them. But you know something? For your age, yours are better. Bigger, I mean. Not that size is all that important." She laughed. "I've got small tits. What else can I say?"
The smiling girl turned on the taps at the wash basin and began soaping a wet washcloth. She stopped when her mother asked: "What's up? What are you doing?"
Laughing, the girl ran the fingers of her right hand between her fat young cuntlips. "I must be a little ripe, too," she replied. "It's a hot day. I didn't shower this morning. If I meet a guy, I don't want to knock him down from ten feet away." Amy had turned off the shower and was towelling herself.
"You're wrong," she said. "A sweet, healthy girl like you, a woman, really, even if you are under thirteen, right?--you could never smell offensive in a couple of days. Or three. Or four." She giggled like a school girl. She couldn't very well tell Terry the reason why, in her opinion,, Jim Tingen and Barney Knowles had both been drawn to her today. Not fair to Ronnie. Not very smart. Later. Yes, later she might. Later, it might be funny.
She rubbed the towel gently between her legs, letting the warmth of friction tune its way up inside her. "Damn! It's kind of fun, at that, being a female," she said. "If you don't stay blocked in ice too long." She turned back to Terry, deeply glad that some miracle had made them women, together. "Baby," she said, "that lady-perfume, that smell we poor dumb dames have always been taught was rank and raunchy, is anything but."
"Ronnie liked it," the girl ventured, flushing.
"He used to stick his nose down between my legs and bark like a dog. When he had his fingers in me--in my pussy, I mean--he'd pull them out and smell them and lick them. Like some kind of nut!" Amy patted her daughter's cute, round little butt. "No way," she said. "Like some kind of smart guy. It does smell good. It does taste good." Now it was her turn to flush. "I guess you know all that, anyhow."
Terry fell on her, rubbing her belly, laughing, kissing her rather hysterically. "Honest, Mom," she said, "You're the best! Of course I've smelled my pussy. And tasted it, too. But how many mothers--and daughters--can say it to each other? Oh, Mom, I love you so!"
Amy walked out toward her bedroom, with Terry tagging along. "It turns men on," the mother said. "I know I'm a dummy, but I do read what's going on." She laughed. "Some dumb scientists found it out," she giggled. "Had a whole bunch of college girls wear a tampon up their cunts every day for thirty days. There's a chemical in that pussy juice. Something like, uh, hormones." She snapped her fingers. "Pheromones," she said. "So don't wash it off until it begins to really knock guys over. When it gets 'em up, it's okay." She smiled. "Or am I being too coarse?"
Her daughter hugged her, whooping with laughter. Then she stopped laughing. "I'll have to find a new guy," she said. "To turn on with my dear little old puss and its perfume." She tried to smile.
"Nonsense," Amy said. "All that's happened between me and Ronnie is an accident. Sure, he set me free. But you had as much to do with it as he did. Or I did. Anyhow," and she kissed her daughter on the cheek, "can you imagine me in a permanent thing with a fifteen-year-old boy? He's lovely, but not for me. Not for permanence. Not for you, either. He's just for fun."
Terry rubbed herself against her mother. "You're wild, Mom," she giggled. "Are you, a decent, respectable parent, telling me, your little girl, that I should fool around? Screw guys? Just for fun?" She was holding her sides, her little pink titties sticking out above her forearms, jiggling as she jiggled.
"I know it's a far cry from all I've ever told you," Amy said, misty-eyed. "But listen. Can you think of a better reason? Yes, my dear, I'm telling you that."
In their mutual pleasure in their new status, the mother and daughter found the rest of their day a lovely time. They were so much engrossed in each other that they gave no thought whatever to anyone else.
Except that, after Amy had said: "I don't feel like cooking, so let's eat out," and they engaged in the small flurry of leaving, both of them noted a light on in the Davis home. Neither one of them mentioned it. But they were both thinking the same thing: What they were to do about Ronnie hadn't been settled, at all.
CHAPTER TEN
There was nothing, really, for any woman to decide about what should be done about Ronnie. He had had an enormous interest in sex, even before he even started puberty. An enterprising boy, without exposing himself to raised adult eyebrows, can learn a lot as soon as he wants to. Magazines filled with the most intelligent and explicit sex information abound, as do books. And many of them are beautifully and instructively illustrated with excellent photographs, in black-and-white and gorgeous color. Ronnie Davis, through odd-job earnings, had been able to gather a respresentative library of these educational publications.
Before Terry and their fierce but inconclusive liaison, he had used these bright and beautiful illustrations to make his jerking off more thrilling, hotter, more like fucking. It made a wonderful safety valve.
They were still treasures when he began to feel the tickle and squeeze and finger-fuck the brightly colored little girl next door. None of the girls in the illustrations were as young as Terry. But those with blonde-fringed cunts made him think of her. Now, those older ladies could remind him of Amy. Fantasies fortifying reality.
And the dark ones? The brunettes, with their darkly curled cunt hair straggling along the sweet depression of a sweated groin, away from the darker main patch? Or thinning out along the sweetly sculptured strength of the inner thigh--what of them? And the vein-laced and juice-slicked cuntlips, turned out by the big cocks of the male models, so that some important educational point could be clarified--they were darker and lovelier and, possibly, more brutally beautiful to the young boy than even the blondes he felt he knew more about.
Why?
He had showered and put on a clean T-shirt and Bermudas. His mother knocked, then came into his room, her sweet face unsmiling but rich with the promise of love. She had changed, too, into a loose, short shift. If she were in the yard on her hands and knees, he knew he would be able to see the bulging white vee of her panties. Or maybe, if she had left her panties off, the dark, warm, pungent beauties of her full-lipped split.
As she hugged him, he ran his hands up to her shoulders and down to her swelling buttocks. It was a fact, she had nothing on under the thin dress. Nothing but the smoothness and warmth and living resilience of her wonderful body. He held his face pressed between her soft, heavy breasts, hearing her heart beat, and knew that his heart was racing, too.
"I've fixed you a real home-cooked dinner tonight, darling," she whispered. "One of the things you love best."
He held on to her strong, lovely body and tried not to tremble. Mom, he addressed her in the warm silence of his aphrodisiac mind, What I love best, you don't have to cook. Or put on a plate. But he thought of how crazy and what fun it would be to see her fat, smooth, lovely ass on a platter, with her flowing cunt flavored with some slick, lightly salted gravy. And filled with little teeny dumplings that he could suck out leisurely, lying so that her warm hands could play gently with his prick. Like the cunty and tapioca like gobbets he had licked from Amy's fragrant pussy.
The mother, her thoughts chaotic in her need and in her love, felt the sudden lump of cockmeat rise against her belly and she yearned to cry: "Ronnie, my baby, my big son! I wasn't drunk or unconscious last night! I needed you, I wanted you, I loved you!" But it was beyond her capacity just now. All she could do was rub against him, but so furtively that he could not realize it was confession, explanation, invitation.
"It's chicken-and-dumplings!" he said as he went into the kitchen. "I love it!" Fluffy, homemade dumplings, flavored with chopped parsley and chives, swapping their thickenings for the rich flavor of the chicken and its rich broth. "You know, mom, the few times I've eaten chicken and dumplings somewhere else, like at school, it's like slop by comparison."
His mother poured a quarter-cup of melted butter onto the bubbling snow-mounds of the dumplings, and added the juice of a big lemon to the rich gravy. She came over to kiss him for the compliment, and when she bent down to him, one of her warm breasts pressed against his shoulder. He briefly saw the rounded, creased loveliness of her belly, with a flash of dark hair, and he could not help it. He turned and held her, sniffing the rich aromas which came from her body, and which aroused a far deeper hunger than the wholesome scents from the chicken fricassee.
She pushed away from him reluctantly, and served the meal.
"Go watch television," she said, when he started to help her clear the table. But he kissed her arm and said: "No way! You work your hump off to make a home, the least I can do is help."
He boldly stroked her beautiful rump as he said this, and she quivered with a wrench of desire in her body that made her weak and started a hot little rivulet of cunt juice sliding down the sensitive inside of her thigh. His hands felt hot on her skin, right through the thin fabric of the dress. Did she feel as wildly exciting to him?
Knowing that he had fucked her and sucked her last night when he thought she was out of it was a torture she could barely stand. After he had gone to his own room, she had gotten all his cream out of her cunt that she could manage, squatting over a square of plastic as she forced it out by muscle-squeeze, getting the last of it with her fingers. She had savored it slowly, drop by drop, keeping it warm by resting the plastic on her breasts. The remembrance of event, feel, orgasm, smell, taste, all together, gave her a flash of heat that turned her legs to spaghetti. She went into the hall, breathing deeply to get herself in hand, knowing that even the tiniest rub of cuntlip on cuntlip would floor her in a rush of orgasm. "Oh, God," she whispered in the dark of the hall, "he needed it so! I had to let him!" And all the time her mind told her the truth: she had wanted him perhaps more than he had needed her.
Wanted him, her son. Not just a fuck, not just a sweetly rippling orgasm from any sucking mouth and probing tongue. "God, how can it be wrong if it's so sweet, if he needs me and I want him?"
She could not find an answer, and was glad when Nell Thorne came by with a bottle of Canadian Club. "Screw Big George and his bar," the nervously smiling little woman said. "The hell with paying eighty-five cents for a measly ounce of booze! And half a buck for domestic beer! Hi, Ronnie! Your mom and I are going to follow our noble president's advice, Whip Inflation Now!" She hugged Ronnie and set the bottle on the table. "Damned shame you're not old enough to get smashed," she said affably. "But you can hold me while I get smashed, if you want to!"
He watched the tube for an hour or more. There was only one light on in the Morris home. It meant nobody was home. So around nine-thirty he crawled into bed. He had a marvelous feeling in his cock. Not a hard-on. "I had plenty of fucking today," he told his naked reflection in the mirror, just before he put on his pajamas. He rolled the soft foreskin back slowly, exposing the head of his dick. He remembered how he had held that skin stretched away with his fingers, shuddering with a recall of lust as he remembered how the woman's piss had felt as she emptied her bladder on the excited flesh.
He heard his mother and Nell laughing it up, and dropped off to sleep hoping that he would get another opportunity to see, to feel, to enjoy his mother's body.
Late that night, he woke up with a hard-on. With rapidly beating heart, he stole down to his mother's bedroom. She was laying sprawled across the bed with the mini-dress up around her waist, the divided beauty of her ass almost too beautiful to be true. But her friend Nell apparently had passed out, too, and was lying on her back, snoring. Her dress was up, too, but she had on panties. He would have loved to have a close-up look at her cunt, as well as a sniff or two. She wasn't good looking, but what the hell. She was a woman, and all cunts were interesting.
He regretfully went back to bed, thinking of his mother's lush and attractive body, the dark red of her inner lips, the dark and curly hair on her thick and fleshy outer lips.
He had been correct in the belief that' he had had enough sex for one day. In spite of his hard-on, his ardent dream of his mother's cuntal area in all its slick and lusty beauty, he fell asleep again almost immediately. When he woke up, he heard his mother and Nell chattering away in the kitchen, and the aromas of bacon and flapjacks brought him swiftly awake.
As she had last night, Nell came to him, her small, friendly face beautified by a smile. He had never really noticed what she looked like until last night when she had been spread-eagled on his mother's bed, her loins masked only by nylon panties.
Now, close up, she warmed him with the same thick, warm smell that came from his mother's superb cunt. And Amy's and Terry's.
He put his arm around her shoulders. She was small but not boney. It was pleasant to feel how solid and feminine her body really was, and he swung her to him so that her belly was against his. She looked up at him and he was amazed at how much a woman could communicate without questions or answers.
I can fuck you, old baby, he thought with male pride. When we can get together, you'll give me your cunt. He was not even surprised when Nell, maybe not so good looking but unquestionably peter-hungry, nodded agreement. He could communicate, too!
Since Saturday was a big day at the Foto-Mat store where Cathy worked, she took her days off on Sunday and Monday. Nell left when his mother did, and young Ronnie, his imagination warmed by the discovery that there was a good deal of ready pussy in the world, watched some TV cartoons and part of the NBC Game of the Week, hoping that the older woman would come back.
But nothing happened, so he dressed for a Saturday, which meant a pair of faded cut-offs and sandals. It could be a good day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
During the past few months, Saturday had become less of a big day for Ronnie. If the surf happened to be really up, he was skilled enough to ride the curls. But that was because he had little else to do. Amy, no more stupid than the average mother of a fuckable young daughter, took her days off on Saturday and Sunday. Why not? She was the most "senior" of all the checkers and stock assistants at the market. And she did so many other things of value to the company that she rated very high. It had made it very frustrating for Terry and Ronnie.
But on this day, something happened.
Terry picked up the telephone on its second ring, as she was helping Amy make beds, and said: "It's for you, mom. Barney Knowles." She giggled. "Has he got the hots for you?"
Amy's entire body felt a glow as she took the receiver. Barney had said: "Maybe on your day off, we can do something." The feeling made her humbly grateful. It wasn't just sex with a boy she could dominate, then. It was normality. Being a woman.
But the glow faded. "I'm really sorry, Amy," The big man's deep voice was sincere. "Pat Heldmore had to rush her kid to the hospital. She may be back in two hours, certainly around noon." He sighed, and Amy liked it, it made a sort of intimacy. And then he said: "Anyhow, you can have Monday off, and that's my day off, too. Like I say, I hate to drag you down here, but you know how they swamp us on Saturdays."
Her blood was flowing again. He had meant what he said about her day off. She wasn't fool enough to blow such a small attention into an entire future. She didn't need to. She was a woman, with a woman's power. She was really joyful when she said: "You bet I'll be there, Barney. But not at eight, okay? Someone else does the stock work on Saturdays, right? How about nine?"
She blew a stray hank of blonde hair up off her face and grinned impishly at Terry. "Barney needs me this morning. Pat, you know her, the one that looks like Sophia Loren, has a problem. Her oldest boy's sick. So I'm going to have to work this morning. I hate giving up any part of my Saturday. But it's for Barney."
She put her arm around Terry and said: "Let the beds go. We can do them later. And let's have something really nice for breakfast."
As they ate, Terry watched her mother, who seemed happy.
"All of a sudden, you get sort of high when Barney calls you to come to work," the child said. "I think I smell some of those whatchacallems--ferminones, whatever."
"Pheromones, and don't be a smart-ass, young lady." Amy laughed, her face flushed and happy. She held open the neck of her nightgown and pretended to sniff. "Wow!" she said. "Barney ought to call me oftener if it gets me up this way." But she was very pleased, and Terry saw it.
There was plenty of time, so they didn't rush and Amy got dressed leisurely while Terry cleaned up the dishes. Her mother patted her firm, pretty little behind when she came in to kiss the girl good-bye, and Terry gave one of her mother's boobs a squeeze. It was so marvelous, being on this kind of woman-to-woman basis.
The weather had been warm and dry, so, when Terry went out into the backyard, the spots that had been darkened by the spillage of urine during the crazy session yesterday had disappeared. However, on the coarse brown canvas there were two irregular borders of a faint white deposit. "Salt from the piss," the girl whispered. She traced them with a finger. Mom had lain here. This, then, was Ronnie's peepee. Then this one, farther down, was her mother's? She shivered, holding her arms tight against her sides, squeezing her tender young breasts in pleasant pressure.
She was so used to Ronnie never being around on Saturday--"I'm not going to stick around, not able to see you because your mom's home, and go out of my nut," he had declared--that she never thought he might be at home. But she thought about him. Lord, how she thought of him!
She was kneeling where he had kneeled, squirting his yellow piss into her mother. Into? That couldn't be, could it? On to, all over the open cunt, she guessed. God, that was hot enough! To have it go inside your pussy--that would be too much to stand!
She suddenly leaned back, getting off her knees, in her shortie nightgown. Her warm, firm little ass felt the sun-heated roughness of the canvas cover. She brought her knees up against her body, looking down at her pussy. It was itching, itching very hard from a high heat that had sprung up in her as she thought of her mother, lying spread out, holding her cunt wide open while the tall boy shot his peepee all over the slick, pink lips.
Her back was curved, her butt forward, so that she could actually see the pink split between the thick lips which guarded it. Her fingers began to play softly up and down in the whorls of coral-pink inner lips, in their cum-oozing slickness, teasing herself, whispering: "Sweet thing! Sweet little pussy!" In good time, she would begin to tease around her clit, then make sudden, loving little incursions into her darkly drooling cunt. But there was no hurry. This was going to be a lovely, loving, long lasting cum. "Ooooooh, I smell good!" she whispered.
A shadow fell across her, scaring her half out of her wits, and all her bones seemed to turn to hot jelly when she looked up and saw a tall figure standing above her. She was blinded by the sun just coming over the trees of the hedge, and she had to blink and shade her eyes to see who it was. She leaned back, sick with relief, shaking from her abysmal fright.
"Ronnie Davis!" she cried. "Damn you, anyhow! Oh, I could kill you, scaring me that way!" She tried to get up, but he dropped down by her on all-fours, pushing her back.
"I'm sorry, honey," he said contritely. "I saw you through the hedge and couldn't believe it, you out here playing with yourself. I knew your mom couldn't be home. I thought you heard me pushing through the bushes. You always have before. Honest, I wouldn't do such a shitty thing."
He looked at her sweet young face, still white from her scare, and at her girlishly opulent body, so plainly visible through the sheer little handful of fabric. He had not seen her, not really, for two days, and he had seen so much female flesh, been enraptured by so much mature sexuality, that he had forgotten how intensely appealing she was. Like a pink and gold picture out of a fifty-cent valentine. Unbelievably sweet, incredibly innocent.
The full blown ripeness of his mother's body, of her mother's, the reality of thick cunt hair, maturity of thigh and butt, of tit and cunt, seemed slightly faded alongside this dewy look of pre-teen lushness. Even her pretty little cunt, as fat as any grown woman's and looking almost hairless, had an intensely hot effect on him. This was a flashing thought, as bright and clear as a dream, as sweet as a spring breeze.
And still, she had never done more than play with his cock, and let him play with her pussy. It cooled him the least bit, and he started to get up, although he repeated, formally: "I'm sorry, Terry, really. I didn't mean to scare you."
He got a sweet shock.
The girl put out a hand and it rested between his thighs. She seemed to be hunting something, and she found it. His cock. It had been very hard, and no wonder. Watching that brilliantly beautiful child, who was still a woman, as she opened her sweet thighs and spread the lips of her pussy--it would have given a hard-on to a marble statue. And it had gone down only a little as he crouched, begging her pardon.
"Don't you dare leave me, Ronnie Davis," she ordered, but she was smiling, even if her heart was pounding. "It seems like forever since I've seen you." Then, remembering that she had seen him, right on this very couch pad, late yesterday afternoon, she flushed and dropped her eyes. She still had a grip on his dick.
He immediately sat down and eased over near her, putting his hand over hers as it pressed his flesh so warmly. "Baby," he said fervently, "it seems like a year to me, too!" He did not waste any time, but held her face to him and kissed her. There was a new warmth, a new generosity in the way her slick tongue shot into his mouth. She sucked his tongue hard, and a tremor of lust apparently shook her, for she pushed at him, moaning, and frigged his cock hard and fast.
"Hey, wait a minute," he said, pulling away. "You know better than to jerk me off in my damned pants. Where's your mom? Is it okay for me to take off these shorts?"
For once, she seemed to be the positive boss. She had always been the negative-dominant partner, yelling "No!" when he was getting too far toward actual cock-and-cunt joining. Now she was grinning, licking her lips, pushing him over backward.
"Mom had to fill in for somebody who's sick," the girl said, not caring that it was inaccurate. "She'll be gone all day." And she knew that that was inaccurate, too. "We can do it all! Hey, get up! I've got an idea."
He let her lead him into the house, although he felt as wary as a coyote circling a trap. The girl's warm, tenderly pneumatic breasts and ass-globes, the sweetness of the fuck-smells that seemed to surround her, were enough to drive him out of his mind. And in the house, yet! What the hell was happening.
Unbelievably, she led him into her bedroom, and when she turned, her face was beautiful in its intensity of feeling. She came to him with her flowerlike little face up, her mouth open for his kiss. There was only the thin fabric of her gown between her soft breasts and his chest. Her mouth was alive with a moving tongue, hotly overflowing with her saliva, sweet as syrup. They were glued together with love, and suddenly the faded cut-off jeans seemed to hot and thick to bear. Maybe he was stupid, and maybe he was being kidded, but everything in his maleness told Ronnie that he had to try. Even if she said "No!" again, he had to force the issue. And in his mind he said: Baby, I'm going to fuck you, here and now, if I have to rape you! He was reaching for the hook on the old cut-offs when she pushed away from him and dropped on her knees. Her face was at his crotch, wreathed in an old, sweetly maternal smile as she pushed his hands away and whispered: "No, Ronnie! Let me!"
He could not believe it. He could not believe she had his cock in her hands, holding it to her lips, looking up at him and whispering: "May I kiss him? May I suck him?"
He took her head in his hands, his heart almost beating its way out of his ribs, and moved her so that his throbbing cock, standing high and hard, a drop of clear pre-cum fluid on its very tip, was almost touching her forehead. She took her eyes from his, still smiling that age-old smile, and pulled his rod down, down toward the "O" formed by her lips.
"Oh, Ronnie, this is my first time, ever!" she cried, but her voice was happy as a child's. "How good he smells! How hot and hard he is! Oh, I hope we both know what to do! I want you to be happy! I want to suck your cock just the right way!"
She moved forward, letting her face surround his hard, hot roll of happily throbbing meat. As if she had been sucking cocks all her life, she gently groped for his balls and squeezed them with a feather touch of her soft, warm little hands. He could smell the heat of her body, the cleanness of her sun-warmed hair as he held his big hands lightly on her jaws, moving her head back and forth. Her tongue moved gently around the stem and the head of his prick, and it was marvelous to look down into the scoop neck of her short nightie and see the tiny beads of sweat glistening between her smooth, firm little breasts. But something bugged him.
Although she moaned in protest, he pushed her head away, stepped back, letting his tool jerk out of her face, slick and shining with her generous flow of spit.
"Stop it, Terry," he said firmly. "This has me worried. What are we doing. Why? Come on, stand up."
She stood before him, her lips trembling, eyes downcast.
"All right," she said. "I came on too strong, didn't I? I scared you off, didn't I?" She sat on the unmade bed, her face in her hands.
The boy stepped out of his cut-off Levi's and kicked them away before going to sit beside her. "It's all right," he said. "I just don't understand. Aren't you scared your mom'll catch us? Sure, you shook me up. But damn it, Terry, you've stood me off for months, never let me even come close to, uh, really getting off in a normal way. So why are you so different?"
She clung to him. "Ronnie, please," she whispered. "Take off my nightie. Please!" She lifted her arms and he gasped at her total nakedness. In spite of his mental chaos, he bent and sucked in one of her small, beautiful titties. The taste of girl-sweat was light and clean, salty and fragrant. He smelled the powerful, grown-up cunt-perfume even with her thighs together. Her flesh was pink and white and lightly tanned, almost opalescent, translucent. A spasm of lust shook him.
"What are you doing to me?" he asked. "Are you putting me on? If you're not, why aren't we outside where we always are? Sure, I'm scared, but not of you. I just don't understand."
She kissed him. "It's all crazy, I guess. When a girl keeps on saying 'no', it's a sign that she's coming closer to thinking--and saying--'Yes'! I always wanted you. But I've been, well, you know how my mom always treated me."
Some tiny flare of insight lighted his mind. "Your mom was so mad at you, at us, day before yesterday," he whispered. "And she changed, all of a sudden?" Above her head, he grinned.
The girl held him, stroked his cock, kissed his breast feverishly. "Oh, God, yes!" she cried. "She's so good, Ronnie! It's all different." She drew back and looked at him seriously. "It's true, she's away at work. But if she was right here in the house, and I wanted you to fuck me, I think I could do it."
He did not say: "I think I know why." He had an idea that she knew, either by intuition, or assumption. Perhaps Amy had told her. It could be. The knot of fear dissolved in him, but he held her and whispered: "I believe you. But why in bed?"
She laughed, and the sound of it was sweet. "The second I saw you, I knew that today was the day. That we were going to do it all. Fuck and suck and everything. And I wanted it to be absolutely complete!" Her young face was still sweetly serious. "You know and I know that I don't have any more maidenhead than mom does. But it's kind of like a cherry, isn't it? I wanted us to be naked, lying on my bed, when we first fucked each other! Is that so crazy?" Her breath was coming hard and fast. "
"Oh, baby!" he said, all his heart in his voice. "I really dig you, you know that? This is for real, and you're for real! But I want something special, okay?"
She flung herself on him. "If I can wait," she gasped. "If I can wait a few more seconds. I want your peter in me. Now! But what do you want?"
"Get up on your hands and knees," he said. "Your knees on the edge of the bed. Oh, Terry, your ass is so sweet!" She was looking back at him over her naked shoulder as he stood between her smooth calves, his big hands on the satin smoothness of her taut buttocks. "Please hurry, darling," she whispered. "Oh, God, Ronnie, I'm so darn close to creaming my tights!" She giggled. "My what?" she asked. "I'm bare-ass naked! What are you going to do?" A shudder ran through her. "I'll cum the second you touch me!"
The sweated, sweet valley between her ass globes was hurtingly beautiful. Her tiny asshole was just a pink little pucker, as clean as her lips. And her cunt was, from this angle, like a teen-year-old's. Hardly a hair showed, they were too tiny, too light in color. But the thick outer lips were opened by her heat, and the fluttering inner lips were glazed with her cunt dew. Like thick, fluttery petals on some exotic succulent flower. And her lovely little fuck hole was just a tiny triangle of shadows between the softly pink bubbles of love-stirred membrane.
"I've got to kiss it," he whispered hoarsely. He remembered his mother's dark, puffed out cunt, the bloody look of the pigmented inner labia. And Terry's mother's sweet slit, also golden-haired, also dripping pink. But not like this.
With a groan, his mind only on his sweetly pulsing objective, he dropped to his knees. He put his thumbs gently on each thick pad of outer cuntlip. His pressure opened her deeply, and he sank his mouth on the suddenly revealed entry into her body. It was as ripe and rich a taste and smell as he had gotten from Amy on the day before. But somehow, it was sweeter, far sweeter. He sucked and probed, digging his tongue as far into her cunt as possible. With a burst of wildness, still thumbing her open, he swept his mouth up over her immaculate little asshole, driving his tongue into it, sucking as hard as he had on her vagina. His mouth was full of his spit and her slick cum-juice. The lubrication, plus her sudden response as an orgasm burned high inside her, let his hard tongue go right into the suddenly loosened sphincter, and he felt the utter smoothness, the rank humanity, of her virgin rectum.
The girl had been moving her body as if in the throes of a fit. Dimly, she wanted him inside her. His tongue, his face, even his entire head, her cunt was aching so for fulfillment. Her body seemed lonely because only her pussy was involved. Her breasts ached to be squeezed, to be eaten, to have suction open their untried, juvenile mammary ducts. And her girlish womb, roused and growing these past few months, seemed to move and twist and cry out in her moving, slippery, full-juiced darkness.
It was the thunderous, thudding cum of all cums she had known in her brief experience. She felt the strength of Ronnie's arms and hands grip her thighs, felt his fingers dig with brutal tenderness into the top of her split, cruelly loving the nerves of her bursting clitoris. She was on her elbows, her lovely split ass high in the air, with his face loving her, eating her, sucking asshole and cunt and everything around it. She was biting holes in the bedding, shouting in a hoarse voice, and all she knew was that she was cumming, CUMMING, CUMMING!
"Ai-eeee!" She cried shrilly. "Oh, Ronnie, I needed it so! Was I too quick, darling?" Her voice was soft but mature, a different voice than he had heard. Her hand came back, twisting in his damp, curly hair as he knelt, tense as a crouching lion, with his gently chewing mouth full of cunt, dripping her juice.
When they were again together on the bed, being very careful not to rub against his quivering prick and incite a spurt of too-early orgasm, they kissed easily and sweetly for a long time. They were old lovers in this sense, and the girl moved her head so that their tongues could get everywhere, the caresses warm and knowing and loving. In a few moments, though, she drew away, put her soft hands on his cheeks, and whispered: "Now, baby, let me finish sucking you off. I want to eat your jism. I mean, really eat it. Oh, Ronnie, that little shot of it I had the other day, that was marvelous! So rich!" She laughed tenderly, a catch in her voice. "You know, I've been thinking, it's what makes life, right? And it makes a guy into a man instead of a little boy. Oh, Ronnie, if it makes you so marvelous, maybe it'll make me more of a woman!" She was so excited that a long, clear thread of saliva drooled from her mouth, over her chin, across her breast.
He rolled her on her back. "No way," he said. "I can't wait any longer to try this sweet thing," and he rubbed warmly on her opened split. To try it on my cock and see if it fits!"
She screamed happy laughter. "I'll hold my cunt open," she said. "I would spit on it for you, but I'm too drippy to need it."
He pushed her beautifully formed young legs back and looked at what he was about to get into. It was a deeper pink, and the inner lips were swollen and slick from her cum. There was a wealth of her clear pussy juice leaking out and down across her pink asshole. He pulled her a bit higher, and laid the achingly eager head of his cock against the woman-child's oddly mature fuck hole. And he pushed. He had been wrong; his finger's feeling was unreliable. He had thought that her mother was tighter. His finger declared it. But his cock told him that the daughter's cuntal entry was by far the tighter. And Terry was pushing back, shivering, eager, her eyes closed against the beauty of this reality.
He leaned and added his weight to the strength of his powerful leg muscles, and the girl struggled. "Oh, Ronnie! I love you so! OHHHH! PUSH!" and she threw herself against his weight so that her tiny little cunt let him in an inch. He was panting, sweat pouring off him, and he realized that, in spite of whatever she had used to fuck herself, in spite of his big finger, something was stopping him from entering.
"It's like a real maidenhead," he grunted, a hard smile on his young face. "Unnhh! Wow! as another inch went in. "Baby, you are so tight! Am I hurting you?"
She reached up for him, her face warm with a smile of love and lust. He lowered his upper body, his loins still in the air above her cunt. His hairless chest rested on her soft young tits, and she whispered: "Oh, Ronnie, that feels so sweet! So cummy!"
Her mouth met his with tender ferocity, and as she sucked his tongue deep into her throat, something in her hot young cunt gave way, so that he was in far enough to rub against her hard, slick cervix. She began to fuck with a slow rotary motion, some blessing of native sex-wisdom. She was tight all the way to the end of her barely matured vagina, and she was half-crazy with the pleasure his stretching peter gave her. "I just wish I could suck him and fuck him at the same time," she whispered fiercely. "Oh, my dear, how wonderful it is! OH, OH, OH! HOLD ME, RONNIE! LET ME CUUUMMMMM! " OHHHHH! Ohhhh! Oh, baby, you're so marvelous!"
She clung to him desperately, and he felt some shudder of deeply buried, love-juiced muscles pleading tug at the eager sting of lust in his cockhead.
"Ooooh, sweetie," he begged. "Lie still, please. I want to enjoy fucking you a little longer!" His voice was urgent.
Terry began to hold his head, kissing him all over his face, his cheeks, his nose, laughing while her young body heaved gently.
"The sooner we get this load out of you," she said, her voice a bit unsteady, "the sooner we can get it up again and get it in me again. Somewhere. Hey, baby, what was that wonderful thing you were doing to me awhile ago? When you were sucking me off? Some of that was in my little old shit hole, wasn't it? Geez, that felt so sweet! It was as crazy-hot as my pussy! I want you to stick it in there. In my asshole. Will you fuck me there?"
She was so aroused by the very idea that she began to throw her body from side to side, almost grinding his cock off.
"Start fucking, Ronnie," she whispered hoarsely. "Ram that sweet peter into me! Oh, Jesus, how good it feels! Oh, Ronnie, kiss me! Fuck me! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Oh, baby, oh Ronnie! Ohhhhh!"
She was humping so violently, throwing herself up at him with such power, that it took his attention away from the turbulent nerve-heat in his cock, the urgent pressure from his balls. It was sweet and hot and funny, and he laughed and let her rip as much as she could, enormously interested in the changes of expression in her face as she came in burst after burst of feeling. It kept him from cumming, and enhanced his pride in making her shoot it.
When her violence had ebbed, and she was limp on the rumpled sheets, her face and breasts wet with sweat, she held on to his arms with her warm little hands, looking ready to cry or laugh.
"I could kick myself," she said in a reedy voice. "Oh, God, how good it is! Why did I wait so long?" And then her young face took on a tender look. "Anyhow, darling, you always did give me about four for one, even if it was just on your finger. But I'm grateful to mom, too. She kept me from this for a long time, but she set me free for it, too. More than you could know."
The big boy, raised above her on straight arms, his big cock still buried deep in her steaming cunt, grinned. "Then that was you I almost saw yesterday," he said. But the, you told me you saw part of it. I owe Amy a lot, too, you know."
He lowered his body and lay holding the girl tightly, kissing her deeply and sweetly. When he drew back, Terry smiled up at him. "That's why you could fuck and fuck and not shoot your cream into me," she said, bumping her lovely little ass up at him. "Gee, I must have creamed a lot, myself. You're all the way in, and it's not hurting. Was I real tight and nice for you, Ronnie?"
He kissed her again. From above, he had seen something she hadn't. "My finger never did really get your virginity," he said. "Do you feel sort of wet down there, around your pussy, your ass?" When she tried to raise her head he said: "No, don't look. It's all right, but I broke something, I guess. There's a ton of blood all over us both." His voice sounded very proud.
The young girl's vaginal sleeve suddenly gave a deep, involuntary shudder, and she felt a great glow of heat around her genitalia. "Oh, honey, I'm so glad!" she sobbed. "I'm so glad you got it!" Once more the slender body, the movement centered in her ass and loins, bobbed up and down. "I feel so great! You feel so good, in me!"
She hugged him again, her mouth close to his ear. "I want you to do me a favor," she said. "Please!"
It was exactly eleven-forty when Terry begged Ronnie for a favor. And it was eleven-forty-one when a sweet-faced, dark haired woman with gorgeous titties blew into the ABC Supermarket like a spring breeze and ran to Amy Morris. "Oh, Amy dear," the woman cried, giving the blonde a quick hug. "My boy's better! He won't have to be operated on!" She was shaken by emotion, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Pat," Amy said. "How marvelous! Oh, I can't tell you how good I feel!"
"And you were so good to come in and work for me," the dark woman said. "Oh. Hi, Barney!" and she waved at the store manager passing by. "I'm back! My boy's okay!"
It was very easy, very pleasant. And something very nice happened. Barney followed Amy upstairs to the lounge. Pat Heldmore was in Amy's check-lane, everyone was busy, Amy and her boss were alone. He smiled and reached to put a hand on her arm. Somehow, she turned, so that his big hand was on her hip, and she moved a bit so that it slid down. On her ass, almost, and they were very close to each other, so that Amy had to put her hand on his chest to balance herself. She smiled ruefully. "So, I'll work Monday the same as usual," she said. "Still, I'm glad for Pat, that her son's okay."
Barney's hand was definitely on her ass, at least on the firm, smooth slope of her buttock. He gave it a couple of pats that made a small quirk of nerves somewhere up inside her. "You'll work two hours," he said, his eyes smiling at her. "That and today will give you a full day. And sharp at ten, you'll take off that damned uniform, come out and get in my camper, and we'll go off up the coast for lunch. And stuff like that." He grinned.
"Oh, my, Mister Knowles, sir," Amy said, pressing her hand even more warmly on his chest. "Couldn't I maybe wait until I get in the camper and then take my uniform off?" Her boldness shook her for a moment, but she remembered her resolve to live in the real world. Ronnie couldn't be permanent. Barney could be. But he didn't have to be. There was really a whole lot of real world out there. But she was flooded with something very real and very warm as he pulled her to him.
"You know how much I appreciate this, Amy," he whispered. "I know you, and the sort of girl you are. To get this--this welcome from you--I love it! Go on home, my dear, and I'll try hard to wait until Monday. You sweet, lovely woman!"
He kissed her, his big mouth sweet and warm, and he was as shy as a boy as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Through his store apron, through her uniform, Amy felt his hard-on.
It was fun, driving home. Fun to think about Monday. But I don't see why I didn't invite him for dinner tonight, Amy thought.
She parked and slammed her car door. In her room, she shucked off her uniform and all the rest, enjoying the coolness as her sweetly perspiring body was exposed to the air. She was about to take a shower when she thought how good it would feel to soak in a tub for a while. The hall bathroom, between Terry's bedroom and the guest room where she had first given her body to her Uncle Carl, had a tub. She paid no attention to the fact that Terry's door was closed. If the girl were at home, she would surely have heard the car door slam.
But not necessarily so. Not if you are nearly thirteen, and your lively, tight-nerved young body is out of the world because of your very first real fuck. Not if your nostrils are closed with the thick, gaggingly beautiful heat-smell of your own cunt and a boy's hard-sweating crotch. Not if your ears are filled with the pounding of your hot blood as you ride up and down on a hard peter, one that you love more than you ever loved anything else in life.
Amy stopped dead, and a tumbling chaos of emotions shook her. Damn it! She wanted Ronnie! Today, this afternoon! To take the edge off her cum-hungry need for sex.
"I could wring your neck!" she whispered, momentarily full of a black and jealous anger. And a weird, unbelievable other kind of jealousy. Woman-to-woman jealousy. That little cunt! Taking her mother's boyfriend! And what did she mean, anyhow, fucking right in her mother's home? In her mother's presence? Shameful! Beastly! Oh, how bad it was, giving her very own mother this dreadful, hot, lonely ache in every nerve and muscle in her cunt! And all of this idiocy racing through Amy's unnerved mind in a split second.
Then she began to laugh silently, and feel her entire cuntal system, writhe warmly at the beauty of what she saw. It was an oddly complete, brutally human, unconsciously beautiful picture.
All she saw, really, was Terry's sweetly opened, sweetly mature bottom, her thighs and the soles of her feet. What she must have asked as a favor was to be on top. To be astride Ronnie's loins and have his hard young prick stuck up into her, rather than to be driving into her from above. But the position opened her so! It made her hips, her butt, look so wide, made her thighs seem to flare out to such womanly proportions. Amy's eyes filled with tears of love, as her mouth filled with the passionate flooding of her salivary glands. Her baby, so grown up, obviously so wanton and so fiercely absorbed in her first fuck. And Amy's heart ached at the wildly arousing, deeply touching sight of the splashes of bright virgin blood on the disarrayed sheets. And blood and cum-juice were pumping out of her daughter's stretched cunt with every sliding drive of the girl's body.
Amy could see Ronnie's hairless young balls. They were beautiful, their wrinkled sac drawing them tightly against his pole, the long, hard rod of tense muscle, smoothly thick foreskin, and bursting plum-shaped head that bored deeply into her daughter. It made fire seem to foam in a sort of liquid heat from her own pussy, so freely that she felt the graciously feminine flow cool on her spread thighs. She could not help it, she had her hand in the softly haired thickness of her smooth cuntlips, stroking the sweetly agonized bud of nerves in the top of her cleft.
Terry's lovely young ass rose and Ronnie's thick peter seemed to drag the lining, the vagina, part way out. "I never knew it did that," Amy whispered, unaware of what she said. "I never knew. It's so beautiful! Did his peter turn me inside out, too?" She wondered if such wildly beautiful things could happen to an older vagina. "He said I was tight. He said I was tighter than Terry." But she knew he had been wrong. Still, it had felt like he was dragging the lining of her out on his cock, and she knew for sure that he had battered her womb and stretched the depths of her sheath.
Her knees felt shakey as she watched through the partly opened door. How wildly funny that she should have been angry or foolishly jealous! Ronnie didn't belong to her. Better that he shouldn't belong to Terry. Except as they all wished. Except as they all fucked. It was a completely marvelous thought.
She saw Terry's firmly muscled little butt rise, saw the pink lining of the girl's inner cunt come out and stretch and shudder as it clung to the boy's prick. It seemed beautifully large for a kid his age. They were, in nature's sense, made for each other. As any truly willing set of sexual match-ups were made for each other, but only if the willing cock and the pleasuring cunt are warmed with the heat of eager minds, unafraid to be natural. This was the most beautiful fact of being human.
She saw that Ronnie's rigid prick was slobbery with the rich juice from her daughter's vagina. Not a little girl any more. So sweet, the outer lips so fat and soft, the momentarily exposed inner lips so shiny-bright with fuck-juice. Amy licked her lips and swallowed. Knowing the richness and wholesomeness of her own cuntal flow, she had a flash of cunt hunger. In her hungering heart, she knew she would have to taste that unearthly sweetness that dwelt between her daughter's thighs. Between her cuntlips.
"Yes," she said in a whisper, "they are lust and they are love, and they are beautiful. And they have found me, and made me beautiful, too. They have made me know that I am one of them. Yes, I am born to fuck. How good to know. Thank God, it's not too late!"
She had a blazing surge of lust as her cuntlips rubbed together when she started into the room. The two kids must have been kissing, for she heard a sloppy sound of release, and Terry's laughing voice: "I must have drowned you in spit. Oh, Ronnie, you made me cum again! You bad boy, I know why you haven't shot your load yet! You and mom! Ronnie," and the young ass swirled slowly, happily in a tender gyration around the cock, "am I as good as mom? I know you said she was tight. And that she had a snapping pussy. I just want to be as good as she is. Oh, my God!" the child shrieked, as she felt her mother's warm hand on her ass.
"Hey, baby, don't be afraid," Amy said, as well as she could considering the tension all through her.
She smiled around her daughter's naked shoulder at the bright and beautiful face of the young boy, his curly hair so wet with sweat. She stroked his brow, and leaned down suddenly to kiss him, her tongue curling hotly into his surprised mouth.
She was on the bed, on her knees, smiling at little Terry's crimson face, so tender with love and fuck-heat, her young mouth so soft, so sweetly drooling.
"What you both need is a little pussy flavor," she said.
She kneed her way across Ronnie-boy's suddenly alert face, and groaned as his hands went warmly up around her buttocks.
"You're sure juicy, Amy," he said. "Wow!" That smells so good!" He was licking around his lips, and his cock suddenly seemed to swell in the tightness of Terry's quivering little pussy, so that the girl humped in an involuntary spasm as she clung to her mother and groaned.
"Let me watch," the girl said brokenly, sitting straight up on the tall boy's cock. She saw the dark blonde hair on her mother's pussy, darker around the cuntal lips where the lady-juice had been swelling and seeping out. She saw the gleam of sweat and female cum on the huge tendons as her mother gently lowered her opened cunt to Ronnie's waiting lips. Somehow, her hands were on Amy's breasts, and they felt so alive, so firm, in their silken weight and warmth.
"It looks so beautiful," the young girl whispered. Ronnie's chin and throat muscles were moving so that she knew his tongue and lips were sucking and licking at her parent's rich flow. "I want to kiss it, too, mom. Is that crazy?" She almost wailed as a tremor of cum-heat washed in a big wave deep up inside her, and suddenly she and Amy had their arms around each other, kissing like two old lovers, secure and happy in their heat. And Amy's hands were on Terry's tingling young breasts, squeezing them in a knowingly, lovingly painful grip. It was wilder than any dream she had ever had, unbelievable, but in no way shameful or hurtful.
She needs me and I need her, the young girl thought. I know it, and she knows it. We'll always love each other. It was a quiet pledge, deep in her heart, but her mother seemed to know. She pulled her mouth away from her daughter's, tears of joy and love on their cheeks. Her mother's lips formed the words: "I love you, baby I" and the girl, her body alive with the brilliant fury of sexuality, clung to the older woman.
"We'll make this rascal cum," Amy said clearly. "Fuck him hard, baby! I'm about to shoot a cuntful of juice into his face!"
The lovely fire of orgasm jolted her as she was getting the last words out, and she clutched her daughter fiercely. Under her, in the instant tenderness of her bursting clitoris, of her fuck-fired cunt, she felt the vibrations as Ronnie shouted, and Terry cried out: "Oh, God, mom! We're both cumminggg! OH, OH! OH, BABY! Fuck me!" And her slender young body writhed out of control as she felt, in her sensitive pussy, the wild heat and pressure of the boy's big load of sperm, so slick and hot, filling her cunt until she felt it would burst with joy.
There was no holding her upright. The two women fell in a warm, softly loving heap, embracing each other and laughing, and the boy turned with them so that his strong young prick stayed in Terry's jism-slicked and relaxed pussy. He felt its inner muscles milk him and he said: "Like mother, like daughter! You're both the greatest." He squeezed the softly muscled smoothness of Amy's lovely, mature, and utterly feminine ass. There was a pulsing of pink membrane near his mouth, and a big pouring of thick, clear juice. He sucked it up gently, feeling the marvelously sensitive woman's body move slowly in gratitude arid a recollection of lust. "But there's another little pussy I'm going to suck before I go home. It's got my cream in it, and some other good stuff!"' He was laughing, but his voice was strong and manly.
They looked and felt and touched and kissed, each one bright with personal joy and inward visions. They moved slowly and gently, each anxious to add to the pleasure of the other two. And all the time, Ronnie's eyes were on the thick, smooth, blood-and-cum flecked cuntlips that oozed his pearly white load. How lovely to suck it out! He lay on his side and the young girl instinctively lifted her warm thigh over him so that her soft young cunt was a long, easily parted split. Lovely! He was only a kid, but he knew he was participating in a ritual as old as time, as sweet as heaven. When he felt someone begin to lick his cock, and knew it could not possibly be Terry, and saw the girl's body move, and heard her long sigh of contented lust, he smiled. Everybody was sucking everybody. It was completely beautiful.
He moved his head just a little. He had a quick, bright cognizance of how lucky they all were. Amy, maimed by ancient cruelty, now as free and innocent in lust as a she-dog. Little Terry, a prisoner of fright and mother-menace. Freed in the same action. And himself, a nobody, a stupid kid, enjoying heights of joy that, as he knew and guessed, few men have ever known.
He began to lick up and down in the richly oozing and heat-reddened valley of sweet flesh. He could taste his cum, thicker, saltier, more creamy-rich than Terry's. Or Amy's or his mother's, for that matter. With a secret smile, as he licked the blood-swollen labia clean of the his-and-hers cum juices, he thought of the promise given him this morning in the rub of Nell Thome's belly against his. It made him fuck into Amy's throat with a quicker interest. He felt her breath in the hairs around the base of his cock. She was giving the head of it the lip-quick in-and-out suck she had surprised him with yesterday. "How do you know to do that?" he had asked, knowing she was, in reality, as innocent as he. It felt so good! And she had replied, after taking his prick out of her mouth and wiping her wet lips: "I don't know, Ronnie. It's the way little Terry used to suck my titty when she wasn't very hungry. It made me feel good. I thought maybe it would make you feel good."
Blessed woman! Blessed women! He had his mouth over Terry's tender little fuck hole and was siphoning out everything in her. Jism, blood, her cunt juice. And she was squealing and jerking and pulling his hand to pull at her breasts, swollen with a cum. How quick she was! Like her mother. Mother, mother, mother! He had a little flash of intuition, a camera flash bulb that outlined a picture. His mother's lush and beautiful body. Richer in outline and substance than Terry or Amy. The way her thighs had opened, the ease with which he had raised them. She had been awake! She had known he was sucking her, fucking her!
Goddamn, she had known! Because Amy's body was so close to his, he felt her leap as her daughter's clever mouth sucked the sweet pain of orgasm right out of her guts. He thought of those pink girl-lips, that pointed little tongue, delving into the twisting, responsive, cumming hole of the older woman. It made his balls feel very tender, very full. It made a marvelous itch in the head of his dick.
He let go of Terry's live young breast to put his hand on Amy's head, to keep her on the ball. On his cock, really. He was fucking into her throat now, smooth, long strokes. He felt his cock, hard but flexible, bend and go part way into Amy's gullet. It was about to shoot. It would spurt its cream straight into her belly. Gee, this little blonde cunt tasted so sweet, smelled so rich and ripe. Its puffed out lips were kissing him rather than the other way 'round.
He was cumming. Amy was cumming. Terry was cumming! Twice for Amy, he thought, three times for Terry, but who counts at a love-time like this? He was thinking of another pair of cuntlips. Dark, dark hair. And tonight he would check for sure--was it possible that the skin of those thick outer lips was almost black? And the creased and textured inner lips, so slick with tasty juice--were they really a dark blood-red?
It was killing him, this long, hard cum. He was shouting something into the cute pink cunt he had been slurping. "Oh, Amy! Suck it! Suck it hard, Amy! Please, please, please! OHHHHHH!" And he was throwing his body almost up over the sweet faced, warm mouthed woman's head. He could see the opaque thickness of his jism dribbling out of the corners of her mouth as he rolled over. Her smile was sweet. There were splatters of his seed on her face, and Terry, laughing and crying, was licking them up. Love was in all of them. The two blonde faces were together now, free and happy, looking at each other, at him.
Life was lovely.
He shut his eyes and saw a lusher nakedness, a darker cunt, a sweeter smile. In the silence of his mind, he said: Mom, I love you. Mom, we're fucking. Mom, open your cunt for me.
